Some slightly different fun
by LittlePippin76
Summary: Not sure what this is going to be yet, but it will be slash, so please don't read it if you don't like that. It does have Scarlet Watson in it, but so far in a minor role, and it's not related to her other stories. I'm just playing again. Pip.
1. Wedding Ring

**Not sure where I'm going with this, but it will be slash if it continues, so step away if that doesn't float your boat. I have two very angsty chapters that may become a part of this at some point, but they may not. It appears to contain Scarlet, but it will not be related to Just for Fun, or Light Versus Dark, she'll just be an extra but the general set up (John's daughter, Mary has died etc.) remains the same. I was tempted to**** change her name, but that seems a touch pointless, seeing as she's the same girl with the same history. This might be considered as an alternative life for her if it hadn't gone the way it had in that story.  
**

**All in all, I'm confused. Reviews would be helpful. Right now I'm just seeing this as writing practise again, but I'm willing to progress it if there's interest.  
**

**As always, the characters you recognise from the BBC series 'Sherlock' belong to people who aren't me, and I'm in this simply for the reviews; there is no financial gain here.  
**

**Pip**

**

* * *

**I looked closely at the shelves. There was some disruption of the dust around the photos and something was wrong with a small double-frame at the back.

"Sally, can you pass me gloves, please?"

I could hear the sound of the being pulled from the box, and put my hand out as I could sense her coming towards me. She placed the gloves in my hand.

"Thank you."

"Wait a second!" she said, "what's that?"

I looked around. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for Sally to make some observation or other which might become important to the case. I tried to see where she was looking and moved my hand out of the way, but she followed it with her eyes.

"What's what?" I asked her.

"That!"

She grabbed my hand and held it up to her face.

"What's that, Sherlock? Is that a wedding ring?"

Somewhat unexpectedly, I felt a slight blush rise to my cheeks. I was aware of the silence in the room, and the fact that everyone there, even people I'd never met before, were all staring at me. Lestrade was heading over too. I had a sneaking suspicion that an issue was going to be made of this.

I took my hand back from her.

"Yes, it's a wedding ring, and it's really not relevant to the case."

"You got married?" she asked.

I winced at the ludicrous nature of this question.

"Yes. What of it?"

She looked at me for a moment.

"Congratulations."

She actually looked genuine. It struck me that this was one of those times when there was a set etiquette.

"Thank you."

Lestrade looked at me as if he had questions that he was suppressing.

"John's a lucky guy," he told me.

"Hardly," I pointed out.

I snapped on the gloves and picked up the photograph from the back of the shelf and looked at it for a moment. I put it in an evidence bag and handed it to Sally.

"This will need fingerprinting, and I'm willing to bet that if you can identify the two boys in that photograph, one of them was responsible for all of this."

She took it without question and peered through the bag at the pictures.

I stepped over the corpse and left the room. Lestrade followed me.

"This is Mickey Mouse stuff," I told him. "You're getting lazy, Lestrade, and I'm not interested in this kind of thing."

He ignored me.

"So when did all of this happen?" he asked me.

"All of what?" I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I loathed this lazy, imprecise use of language.

"When did you get married? Why didn't you tell me you were getting married? Why wasn't I invited to the wedding?"

I sighed. "We got married on Tuesday, I didn't tell you because if I had have done you'd have wanted to show up, and you weren't invited because we didn't want people there. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? Sherlock, you know that's not a normal way to talk about your wedding day, don't you?"

"Well of course it's a big deal to me, and of course it is to John but to everyone else it's irrelevant. It's a slight change in our legal status in relation to each other. That's all."

Lestrade stared at me for a long while, and I found myself becoming increasingly annoyed with him.

"Am I finished here? Or do you want me to arrest a couple of drunk and disorderlies too while I'm here?"

"No, I'm just... it's fine, Sherlock, thank you for coming down. Would you like me to let you know how it goes when we find the boys?"

I sniffed. "Fine."

"Sherlock, can I ask you one thing?"

I sensed this was going to be about my Civil Partnership, but looked at him anyway.

"Why did you feel the need to change your legal status with John?"

"I intend to adopt Scarlet. John and I discussed the matter and we decided that if that's going to happen, he and I should be completely, legally, committed to each other. I need him to understand that I'm not trying to take her from him, he says he needs me to understand that if our relationship, his and mine, changes, then I have rights and responsibilities towards her. He says that as she grows up she needs to understand that we are both her parents."

"What about Mary?"

I winced. It was completely reflex, but I could tell that he was going to misinterpret that as jealousy or some other ridiculous emotion.

"Mary is dead, Lestrade, and nothing is going to change that. Scarlet will know about her, she will know that John loved her and that she was completely and utterly her mother. I'm not taking her role for either one of them. But Mary was then, and this is now. And I really don't think this is any of your business. Goodbye."

I wasn't sure why I'd become so cross. If I'd have wanted to keep my Union secret, I could have easily chosen not to wear my ring. John had indicated that he wouldn't mind either way, but I could see in his eyes that it made him happy when I wore it.

I think it had been the sudden looming presence of Mary that had upset me. Lestrade had been at that wedding; John and Mary's. People had been invited. Invitations hand been sent, people had danced and had fun. John had had the wedding that he had wanted. He didn't need that with me. He didn't need to spend the day comparing one to the other, or feeling guilty or disloyal, so we'd done it differently.

We were both fine with that, but people would assume.

Regardless of what John and I might have been through in the past two years, people would still make assumptions about what we felt about each other and about Scarlet and about Mary. It would all be so much more convenient if people would just mind their own business and not try to insert their own assumptions onto other people's lives.

I was still cross when I got out of the cab at Baker Street and I could feel the weariness drag my feet downwards as I walked up the stairs. All of it fell away when I stood in the doorway and looked at John.

He was lying on the sofa in jeans and a t-shirt, with headphones on, eyes shut and quietly singing and badly conducting to whatever he was listening to. It was something modern, but unidentifiable from the noise he was making.

I looked at his bare feet, which were looking extremely tempting at the end of the sofa. My keys were still in my hand, so I quietly walked up to him and ran one of them along the sole of his left foot.

He flinched, jumped and squealed. He saw me and laughed and took the headphones off.

"Good case?"

"No, dull. I've finished already."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

I picked up his feet and sat down underneath them. I stroked them while wondering how dysfunctional a family would have to be for a beloved grandson to grow up to murder his grandmother.

"I'm glad you're home though," he told me. "Do you want tea?"

"No, stay where you are."

"OK. Scarlet's asleep."

I smiled. For some reason I found these statements of the utterly obvious quite charming when they came from John. He dug his toes into my thighs.

"So, you have nothing particular to do this evening then?" he asked me.

"No, nothing at all." I looked over at him and took his hand. "Why? What did you have in mind?"


	2. Depression 1

**Thank you for the reviews and the support! I'm going to persevere for a bit.**

**Some of you I know from Just For Fun, so hello again, and thanks for giving this a try. I'm still not entirely sure which direction it will go in. I hope to be getting towards some humour later on.**

**New readers; hello! In my previous long fic, I jumped about with regards to when each piece was set, and tone and the like. I'm likely to be doing that again now as scenarios occur to me. Previously I put Scarlet's age in italics at the top of each chapter and I'll be continuing that again, so that you'll have some idea of the order of things.**

**I will be switching between Sherlock's and John's POV. I'd like to be able to establish who it is without actually stating it, but if you'd prefer me to say at the beginning let me know.**

**I will actually be giving you background of John and Sherlock's romantic relationship, though I felt that yesterdays was a stronger and more interesting chapter so I started there. The following three or four relate to the getting together, so we're about two to three years prior to yesterdays.**

**The following few chapters deal with chronic clinical depression and some of it might make for hard reading. There will, of course, be some comfort too! Again, I'd like to establish tone through my writing, but if people would prefer to know in advance, let me know.**

**

* * *

**_22 months_

It is Christmas Eve and I am not coping.

I had started my evening the way I always do. Scarlet had been asleep for nearly half an hour, and I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying hard to concentrate on my meditations so that I didn't cry. This had become something of a routine with me. Most evenings after Scarlet went to bed, I would have to take some time to focus myself. If I didn't, all the loose thoughts that had been rattling around my head all day would push themselves in and I'd panic. On occasion I'd woken Scarlet up and brought her into bed with me just for the sake of having something next to me in bed.

This clearly wasn't fair to her, and I'd briefly wondered about getting a dog, but that wouldn't solve the source of the problem. Also, I was having enough trouble getting me and Scarlet through the day. The idea of having yet another dependant was quite overwhelming.

The problem is that although I've had a lot of practice with these meditations, it tends to be in relation to thoughts of Afghanistan and of Mary. If there is a new thought that decides to persistently run through my head, it feels as if I am starting from scratch again, and this Christmas Eve was one of those occasions.

I started on my concentrated breathing, feeling the sensation of the air in my lungs, counting in and out. I focused on what I could hear and feel in the room right now, and pushed away unpleasant abstract thoughts. When I was ready, I ran through images of Scarlet, laughing, playing, and looking happy and healthy. There was one, recurring image of Sherlock that always seemed to push its way in there too, but as this thought didn't upset me I let it stay.

It took me about thirty minutes to get calm, which was longer than usual, but it gradually became clear that I was not going to cry right then. Marvellous, well done me. On the other hand, it was only eight o'clock. I either have to rationalise going to bed at eight, or get through another few hours of evening.

I wandered through to the living room, and flicked through the channels, trying to work out what I want to watch. There were about three things that I think I could stomach, but I couldn't work out which one to watch. I could feel the panic rising as I found I was completely incapable of making the choice and having something to distract me from the thoughts.

Bloody Harry! Bloody, bloody, selfish Harry. Why can't she be... Why does she have to be that way?

One of my symptoms is this sensation of freezing, particularly when I'm trying to make a decision. I become frozen between options and literally can't make a choice. Instead I try to freeze the world along with me. But it always leads to panic as I slowly realise that the world is still revolving, Scarlet is still growing older, minute by minute, and somewhere Mary's… I'm left behind, and I still need to work out what I need to do next to make my life continue.

And then that regularly leads to a full panic attack, and there is usually more crying and I am so sick of the bloody crying.

I remember when I raised this with Sheila. "What sort of things can lead to these freezes?" she'd asked me.

"Anything. Anything at all; which brand of beans to buy at the supermarket, which way to walk Scarlet to playschool, which pair of socks to put on. Anything, any decision at all can lead to a freeze, but sometimes it's fine, and I can get through the day doing all of those things."

"When you have these freezes, is there anything you want to do? What's your impulse?"

I was momentarily impressed by this rephrasing of 'how does this make you feel?'

"Run away somewhere. Hide. Hit something hard, or throw something, scream and stamp. Run away and never come back. Call Sherlock."

"Call Sherlock?"

"Yes. Sometimes I want to call Sherlock."

"Why don't you?"

"Because I can't. Because it would be exactly the same as running or hiding or screaming. I can't do it, I can't leave Scarlet to raise herself, I can't hide her away from the world either, and I can't just hand all of the responsibility… all the 'get John through his day' things over to Sherlock. I have to be able to do it for myself."

"How do you know that if you were to call him, you'd ask him to make those decisions? Couldn't you just call him for a general chat until the moment of panic is over? Is it possible if you're calmer you'd be able to make those decisions?"

I'd thought for a moment. She did make some sense. If I was calmer I probably would be able to choose between Heinz and HP beans. On the other hand, it was bit a bit pointless because I wouldn't be calling Sherlock every time I had a panic and I told her as much.

"Why not?" she'd asked again.

Bloody therapists. I remember getting quite stressed with her and her complete lack of understanding.

"Because I can't. Because… you can't just call people seven or eight times a day because you're in a panicky mood."

"It might not be seven or eight times though. You might find that once would do it."

"Well yes but… I still can't. I can't call him at random times through the day, it isn't fair. People don't want their lives constantly interrupted because their friends can 't cope."

"Don't they? Most people I know would prefer their friends to call them than think that they were sat around, suffering. Wouldn't you? If it was him who needed help?"

"Yes but… Sherlock's not 'most people'."

"Yes, you've mentioned this before. Why don't you tell me about him?"

I thought about Sherlock. "Well, for one thing, he doesn't use the phone." She'd given me a look. "Well, he uses a phone of course, he's permanently stuck to it, but he only uses it for work, and if he can send a text instead of talking then that's what he'd do."

"So you think that if you were to call him, he wouldn't pick up the phone to you?"

No, I'd thought, I knew that he would. That was exactly why I couldn't call him. I stopped talking then, and wasted twenty minutes of the appointment. She had of course called me on it, and of course I'd denied it, but that was that. I decided that I would not talk to her about Sherlock again. She'd never, ever understand.

Obviously, he'd been there, babysitting Scarlet, when I'd got home, but he'd left almost immediately. He's been doing that more and more recently. He won't stay for tea or to tell me about his cases any more, he'll just let me know how Scarlet has been and leave. I can't quite remember when he'd started doing that, and occasionally I wonder if I have offended him in some way, but I think that's probably depression related paranoia and rationally he is a thirty year old man, and he has better things to do than to hang around with me and my baby daughter.

Sherlock gets distracted and bored and there was always going to be a limit to his interest in us. He'd been… kind… after Mary. He'd been confused but had genuinely tried to do what social conventions suggest he should do for a grieving friend, but I'd always known that it was forced and it wouldn't last.

This time last year he'd been here. I hadn't mentioned Christmas plans at all, and he'd still been visiting most days, and occasionally staying overnight, so it might have just been that he hadn't noticed the date, but he'd stayed over on Christmas Eve and watched Scarlet open her presents in the morning. Well, watched me open her presents while she played with the wrapping paper. I hadn't even wanted to do that much; I'd deliberately ignored decorations, trees, special lunches, but at the last moment I'd felt guilty and bought her a couple of things that I'd been meaning to pick up for a while anyway.

This year I had decided to make more of an effort. We have a tree and there are wrapped presents, and there was an incredibly misguided attempt to have a 'family Christmas'. Unfortunately, 'family' means Harry, and even though I'd explained to her that we'd be having a dry Christmas, she turned up with her own bottle of Whisky.

"I'm allowed to drink at Christmas," she'd told me. It was another one of her rules and I should have seen it coming. I'd slowly become hardened to her many, many rules of when she was allowed to drink. 'Any day with a 'D' in it'. 'Between midday and midnight' briefly lead me to believe she'd at least be cutting down, but she just started early and lost the ability to tell the time by early evening. I'd been less tolerant of her addiction since meeting Sherlock and I wasn't entirely sure why.

So she'd been drunk by mid afternoon today, and then she'd shouted at Scarlet because her doll's pushchair had been in her way, then she'd stood on said pushchair and put her foot through it, and then Scarlet had cried.

She'd screamed at me when I told her she had to leave, and was sobbing apologetically by the time I'd shoved her into a cab, but I'd had enough. If she hadn't upset Scarlet, I'd probably have taken the abuse, the way I always had, but this was not the sort of Christmas I want for my daughter.

So now Scarlet is asleep, and I am alone on Christmas Eve and I can't decide what to watch on the telly, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the world hadn't stopped moving, and that any second I will remember that I want Mary, and a sister who gives a flying fuck and wants to at least make some effort, and I'll wish my parents were alive and vaguely functional human beings, and I'll wish I hadn't been shot, and that my leg didn't hurt so damned much then and at any moment I will start crying.

I am sick to the back teeth of crying, and I don't understand why I can't make it stop.

Sherlock had commented that my grief seemed 'extreme' this time last year, and at the time I'd though that he was being unfair, and had waited and tried to sort myself out. It was a few months after Mary's anniversary that I started to accept he was more right than wrong and I'd booked Sheila on a friend's recommendation.

On balance, Sheila probably is working, and things are getting incrementally easier, but it's taking a hopelessly long time, and right now it feels completely wrong and hopeless and as if I'm nowhere at all.

My phone is right here, and I know... no I _think_ he'd pick up, and it's possible that he wouldn't mind me calling, but somehow I just can't pick up and call him.

Apart from anything else, he'd told me that he would be going to Mycroft's for Christmas, so he's doing his own thing and it's unfair to interrupt. His precise words were 'you're not the only one with a family you know,' which, thinking back, seems a little odd.

I might text him. That seems slightly more acceptable. I have no Earthly idea what I could put in a text to him right now. _'please come and visit me'_, nope, I'm deleting that. _'I need help.'_ Well, while that's honest, it's inappropriate. Also, it's Sherlock, so he'll assume there is some odd puzzle going on that I can't solve. _'I'm about to cry again'_ Oh for fuck's sake, what is wrong with me? Jesus, delete, delete, delete.

I know.

'_I am an idiot.'_

Send. After all, what's the worst that could happen? He'll most likely assume I'm drunk and ignore it. He hasn't been responding to all of my texts of late, and a big part of me wishes I either hadn't noticed or didn't care about that.

Huh, he's replied almost instantly. _'Yes'._

Heh. Thinking about it, I could have predicted that. In some ways he still feels just as close to me as he ever has been. On the other hand I wish he'd said more than just 'yes'. Although maybe I am calmer; maybe Sheila is right and I just need the human contact. I still don't know what to watch though.

He's clearly bored, I have a second text.

'_Why? On this occasion, why?"_

Why am I? Because my wife died and I'm still sad about it? Doesn't that just make me human?

Because my wife died and I'm still struggling to find any way of getting through the day despite it having been nearly two years? But I'm trying. It's not like I'm not attending therapy and I'm regularly considering maybe trying medication.

Because I don't think I can pick up the phone and call my friend, even though I'd be upset and hurt and angry if I thought he needed me but didn't bother to call me and let me know. I suppose that's the thing isn't it. That's what Sheila was getting at. I've made the decision that he should be left alone to live his life and I haven't given him the courtesy of letting him choose for himself.

I wonder why.

I wonder if it's because if he'd made the choice and had walked away, I'd be heartbroken. Yes, actually heartbroken. Even more so than now.

Shit, the impatient bugger is calling me now.

I am one of the very, very few people Sherlock will call directly on the phone, and he's made it very clear that he'll stop doing so if I mess around with social niceties like 'hello' or waste time by telling him things he already knows like 'it's John'.

I'd better pick up. He'll only call again if I don't.

"I may have misinterpreted the word 'family' slightly,' I told him.

I love it when he pauses at these statements and I can imagine his thought processes whirring while he unpacks this statement.

"What did she do?" This makes me smile. Not many words were needed with Sherlock Holmes.

"She… got drunk."

"She's an alcoholic."

I wonder if he knows how blunt that sounds. Yes, I know that she is, but I'm a doctor, and I'm her brother, and I still can't make the slightest dent in the alcoholism, and that hurts. I miss the little girl that she used to be, when life was still exciting and not hard and we were friends.

"Yes but… I'd hoped that she wouldn't. On this one occasion."

"Ah, then yes. You are indeed an idiot."

Thanks Sherlock. The thought of Scarlet ending up like that overwhelms me and I fight to stay focused. God, what if one day she needs me like Harry does and I'm as incompetent with her?

"Well, she's gone now."

"She left or you threw her out?"

"I asked her to leave."

"Really? And she went willingly?"

No, of course not you stupid, arrogant arse.

"I asked her to leave, then called a cab, paid for it in advance, and put her in it."

"So you threw her out."

"No!" Calm down, John. "There was no actual throwing."

I have to bite my lip hard. Sheila is useless and I should dismiss her. This is going exactly as I predicted, and it isn't helping even remotely. In fact, this seems to have speeded the whole process up slightly, and I'm now in danger of actually crying down the phone, at Sherlock, which will complete my humiliation and I'll never be able to face to him again. God that idea's horrible. Shit, tears. I've gasped, and he'll have heard. Shit.

"John?"

I've hung up. Well, this is just perfect.


	3. Depression 2

**Once again, thanks for reading, reviews and support. And I really am sorry about the darkness of these chapters. Well, I'm apologetic about them, but I'm glad that they're going down well.**

**Please note; I got Scarlet's age wrong on the last chapter; her birthday is February 15****th****, so she is of course 22 months at this point, and not 20. **

**Just so you know; I'm really, **_**really**_** struggling with tenses while in 1****st**** person. Part of my aim with this fic is to work that out.**

**

* * *

**_22 months_

I was, once again, confused by John. He called me to have a strange, tense discussion about his sister, which made him cry, and then he hung up.

No wait; I called him. He sent a text. Maybe it had been a mistake to call him. But he'd sounded... well, his text seemed normal. Like Old John. I wanted to talk to Old John. But I got New John.

It had been nearly two years and I still had no idea when New John will turn back into Old John, or whether he would at all, or if there was anything I could or should do to speed that process up.

One thing was clear, I wanted John. Old or New John, it didn't matter. Well, obviously I'd prefer Old, because I was getting bored and frustrated with New John. On the other hand, either one was better than No John, which was all I had at that moment. And that was decidedly unpleasant.

I put my phone down and decided to play my violin for a while. I needed spend some time thinking about My John. Whoever that person might be.

The last year had been extremely hard for him. Possibly harder than the first year, as he had anticipated that pain so he was prepared and accepting of it.

I couldn't help but feel that this would all be so much easier if there was simply a switch that I could flick which would stop him feeling so miserable and confused, but my experience of human emotions leads me to believe that most people don't have such a switch. He'd explained to me once that grieving was a process that he'd just have to get through. I think we'd both have preferred it if it was a process with a set schedule.

I knew that he was seeing a therapist, and that seemed like a logical and potentially helpful thing to do. Unfortunately she seemed to be as useless as his first one and he was still in so much pain nearly two years on.

I couldn't work out what I should do that would be most helpful for him. When Mary had first died, I'd been just as confused and it had been unpleasant then, but things had become better when I just made sure that I was around him regularly. At first, he didn't seem to need anything more than that, so that's what I'd done.

But then he'd become so hard to read. The crying didn't help. Initially he'd cried fairly constantly, but it had rarely taken him over. He'd just continued about his usual activities with a constant excretion of tears. He didn't draw attention to them, so neither did I. But it made it extremely hard to work out he was actually thinking and feeling and I wasn't used to relying entirely on what he was telling me verbally.

Then at some point, that had changed and he started finding the crying debilitating and somehow painful in its own right. I witnessed it once or twice and was quite concerned at the level to which he struggled with it. On occasion he was barely been able to breathe and even Scarlet couldn't distract him from it.

I had asked once, what had caused an outburst, but he wouldn't tell me, and I can't detect a pattern on my own. It appeared to be completely random.

He's started hiding since then, disappearing into his room or the kitchen on the insane assumption that I won't notice. But it was clear he didn't want me to, so I pretended not to. And we both continued, pretending it's not happening while it doesn't get any better at all.

Some time ago, a couple of months after his therapy had started; he had indicated that he wanted to be more independent. He felt he should be picking up his life and getting on with things for himself. He didn't want to rely on other people for everything as it made him feel weak.

Though I couldn't understand this myself, I took him at his word and I've tried to distance myself slightly. Not too much; if nothing else, he needs me to have Scarlet for him when he goes to his therapy sessions, but I felt that he wanted his space from me and I tried to give him that.

I have to admit, I felt more upset about that than I could have predicted.

It lead to me snapping at him once. I'd asked about Christmas in a general sort of way and he'd already decided that it would be just him, Harry and Scarlet. Though this fits with him trying to rebuild his life, it was still unexpected and painful.

I imagine this was why I was so surprised to get a text from him this evening.

When he'd explained about Harry I felt momentarily victorious in a 'serves you right' fashion, and then I could barely shake the guilt about that reaction. This was _John_, and he's had more punishment than anyone really deserved throughout his life. And as far as I could tell, John didn't deserve any punishment at all.

And my excitement that he might be back to normal meant I hadn't noticed that he was in pain again, and when I did know, I had no idea what I should do about it, and moreover, he knew that I knew so pretending wouldn't be possible this time.

And when I thought about it, I wasn't sure I wanted to go on with the pretending game. I wouldn't bother for anyone else, and I think I'm right not to. It clearly wasn't helping. He was miserable still, and I was miserable that he was miserable.

And not being around him was making me miserable too.

And not being able to simply delete him was making me both confused and miserable.

I clearly needed to go and visit him.

There was no time like the present.

Right. Thank you, Violin.

oOo

I let myself into his flat. I have been using the intercom recently, which seems to fit with his need for independence and space, but it seems a bit pointless now.

It was quiet and dark in the flat. It was past Scarlet's bedtime, so I called quietly to John, but there was no answer. The living room was dark though the Christmas tree lights were on. It was unlike John to leave such a safety risk, so I assumed he left the room quickly and without thinking. It was only just past nine so I was fairly sure that he wouldn't be asleep, so I turned off the lights and headed to his bedroom.

I pushed the door open and could make out the shape of John in the bed. He was curled into a ball, and was covered by the duvet. He'd hidden, so he knew I was there. He couldn't stop himself sobbing.

It occurred to me that my plan didn't extend beyond 'visit John'.

I stood there, desperately wanting to hold him. As I couldn't think of a reason not to do so, I took off my coat, jacket and shoes and got into the bed with him. I moved the duvet so that I could see him clearly.

He was still and quiet, his mouth set and his teeth locked and gritted. His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving at all apart from to take shuddering ragged breaths. It was hideous to watch.

I reached out to him and he froze and hid his face slightly. He clearly didn't want me there and he wasn't sure how to cope with my presence at all. But I couldn't leave now.

"John..." was all I could manage to say.

He seemed crippled by the pain. I don't think I've ever seen someone cry the way he was crying then.

I reached for him again, leaving my hand resting on his shoulder and stroking him slightly with my thumb. All of a sudden he grabbed at me, pulling himself towards me. His arms went around me and he grabbed handfuls of my shirt in his fists. He buried his face against my shoulder. I could feel hot, wet tears soaking through the cotton of my shirt.

My arms went around him too and I held him close, stroking his back for a while. I kissed his head through his hair.

I had no idea what to say to him. I haven't the first idea what might be comforting to someone in such a position. My only instinct was 'shhh' but I squashed that. I didn't want to indicate that he shouldn't cry.

I shifted slightly and realised that I was wearing the least suitable clothing to be in this position. My shirt was pulling uncomfortably, my waistband was digging in somehow, and my feet were hot. With some difficulty I managed to get my socks off with my toes. The rest, I decided, could wait. I couldn't help but feel that removing my shirt and unbuttoning my trousers might be unsettling to him.

He was still tense and sobbing and not letting me go so I kept my arms around him and kissed his head for a while.

I felt strangely at peace. It was peculiar that in such an alien situation, and feeling so physically uncomfortable, I felt that I was exactly where I should be. That feeling hasn't happened to me many times.

Slowly John calmed down and I could feel him release the grip on my shirt, though his arms stayed around me. I didn't let go of him either. I just rested my face in his hair and kissed his head again. Whether from shock or exhaustion he didn't react at all and I found I was quite grateful for that.

oOo

When I woke up, I still had my arms around him, but he'd turned over and was facing away from me now. At some point in the night I'd also un-tucked my shirt and unbuttoned my trousers but I couldn't remember when. I wasn't entirely sure when I'd gone to sleep either.

I wondered whether I should leave now, and let him wake up on his own, free of the embarrassment of having another man in his bed, embracing him. But I admit I was finding the warmth and the closeness comfortable, so I took advantage of his sleeping and hugged him a little closer, and just pretended for a while. I was fairly sure that when he woke up, he would command me to leave, so I was quite prepared to make the most of it while I could.

As he started stirring, he shuffled back towards me, nuzzling into my arm which was unexpected. I squeezed him slightly, and he froze. Clearly he'd just woken up, and was suddenly aware that I was present. I held my breath, braced myself, and slowly started disentangling myself from him.

It was possible that he didn't notice this, but he ran his hands over my arms and held them there. Not firmly; he'd have released me if I'd have made a proper move to leave, but I didn't, and we stayed like that for a moment.

He didn't seem to want to speak, so I did instead.

"John?"

"Mm?"

"Merry Christmas."

Suddenly he laughed. That brilliant, infectious giggle that he has. The same one I heard for the first time with "Welcome to London." He buried his face into his pillow and giggled.

"Oh, God," he said, "the ludicrous nature of my life."

He stopped laughing, but didn't seem to indicate I should leave. He didn't even move away from me, and we were still extremely close to each other. We were certainly closer than his usual sense of personal space would allow.

I suddenly realised I'd been grinning like a village idiot for several minutes.

There was a sudden call from Scarlet's room and John pulled away and got up.

"If you want to see Christmas presents, you have to get up in the next five minutes," he told me as he left the room.

I couldn't help but feel that the situation had been accepted somehow.

oOo

The morning seemed strangely strained. John seemed more or less normal with Scarlet who was confused and excited by the sudden appearance of a heap of presents. Even though she'd just seen John grab them from the hallway cupboard, it would appear that their presence was no less magical for her.

John was absorbed with her completely, and I shamefully felt jealous. They were normal and natural with each other, whereas I couldn't think of what to say to either one of them. I made John and I coffee and just lingered. I felt unwanted, but I wanted to stay anyway. I wanted clarity, I wanted to know whether I'd be wanted and welcomed in John's bed again, but it didn't seem appropriate to ask this at that moment.

Eventually John left Scarlet to play with her new pretend kitchen and he wandered into the real kitchen to start preparing lunch. I followed him in.

"John..."

He turned and smiled at me, but instantly went back to peeling vegetables.

"John, can I do anything to help?"

"Can you peel spuds?"

"Potatoes?"

"Yes, potatoes."

"No."

"Then no."

I sat down on one of his kitchen stools and watched him for a while. Eventually he found this intimidating enough to put the carrots down and turn to look at me.

"John, I want to be with you." I told him.

"I know," he responded. His face took on a number of expressions as he was clearly searching for what he wanted to say to me. "OK, I didn't know before. And I'm still not entirely sure that... I don't know, Sherlock. I do think... I'm fairly sure that right now is not a good time for me to be embarking on a new relationship with anyone."

"Especially me."

"No! Not especially you! No, Sherlock. It's not you, it's _me."_ He appeared to replay that in his head. "OK, there's no way that that doesn't sound terrible, but it's the truth in this case."

"Is it because I'm a man?" I asked, which may not have been entirely fair at that moment.

"No! No it's really not! Look."

He walked over to me and planted a kiss on my lips. I think it was intended to be a simple statement of fact, a physical representation that he had no problem with the idea of kissing a man, but he quite quickly relaxed into the kiss. I responded. Hell, it was all I could do not to grab him and hold him to me. When he pulled away I followed him, but he broke off and went back to stand next to the oven.

John tasted of toothpaste and coffee.

He started rambling then, saying something about depression, and coping and I probably should have been paying more attention, but I was just staring at him, and I found I was struggling to breathe. Eventually I gave up and walked across to him and kissed him, holding him to me with my hands in his hair.

I thought for a moment he was going to push me away, but he again relaxed, and he tentatively put his hands on my hips, then ran them up my back. I sucked gently on his upper lip and he shuddered in my arms.

We were interrupted by a small voice.

"Want deuce, peas."

We broke apart. John seemed incapable of moving for a moment, so I looked at Scarlet.

"You want some juice?"

She nodded and I grabbed her cup from the draining board and filled it with juice and gave it to her. She toddled away.

"What do you say, Scarlet?" John asked. He sounded distant.

"Chank oo, Shock."

I turned back to John. He seemed to be slowly processing something.

"John, I have to head back to Baker Street now."

He jumped. "But you'll... will you... Sorry. Of course you're supposed to be at Mycroft's."

"Mycroft is in Sardinia."

John frowned at me. "You were going to spend Christmas alone and you didn't tell me?"

I didn't really know what to say to this. John had clearly started the keeping secrets thing. Well, unless you count the one about me being attracted to him for seven years, but I didn't count that one. I just shrugged at him.

He sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.

"What a mess," he said. He suddenly looked back at me. "Sherlock, would you do me the honour of coming for Christmas lunch with Scarlet and I? We'd love to have you here."

I thought about this. "It sounds like the festivities might run on a little late. If that was to happen, do you think you could put me up for the night?"

He smiled. "Sherlock, did you listen to anything I said at all? About the depression and stuff?"

"No."

"OK then." He sighed. "Fine, yes, please come for lunch and for an indefinite time thereafter."

I grinned at him, and he smiled back. I wasn't sure where any of this might be going, but No John made me miserable and right now I felt I had to accept whatever I could get.

"I'll be back within an hour."

"Sherlock?" he called as I was about to leave. "I'm sorry. I'm... I didn't realise. I thought it was just pity. You being here was just... pity."

I frowned at him. "No, John. I don't do pity."


	4. Depression 3

**Once again, thank you for your interest, and for taking the time to read this. Pip.**

* * *

Christmas turned out to be nice. Confusing, but nice. It wasn't quite what I was expecting when I was wrapping Scarlet's presents last week. I certainly hadn't envisaged kissing Sherlock twice. If I had have done, I wouldn't have thought I'd enjoy it.

I wasn't silly enough to assume that it would fix everything. I was reasonably confident that certain things would be more complicated. Certainly I would have to manage Sherlock's expectations of what was about to happen. I'd also have to work out what was about to happen, and I wasn't quite sure I had the energy for that at that moment.

I decided I'd follow Sherlock's example for a while and start looking at each problem individually, starting with the easiest, and trying to unravel things from there. So I started with making lunch.

Sherlock was as good as his word, returning to the flat within an hour, bringing presents for Scarlet and me. He'd bought me a shirt and tie, which was a long running joke about his opinions of my dress sense, and a jumper, which was actually sweet of him. For Scarlet he'd turned up with a replica Silver Cross carriage pram in doll's size.

"How did you know?" I asked him and he looked confused. "Harry broke Scarlet's doll's pram yesterday. I hadn't told you."

"No. I didn't know. I just thought she'd like it."

He was right, she did. She tried very hard to keep one hand on it continuously through the day. It had to sit beside her highchair at lunchtime and occasionally she gave it a loving look. She was brilliantly behaved and eventually she fell asleep with a mouthful of turkey, her head slowly drooping towards her plate. I picked her up and carried her to bed.

Sherlock and I had finished eating together, and somehow avoided talking about any matters of any immediate importance. I knew we would have to at some point but it was a moment I wanted to delay. Apart from anything else, I still wasn't entirely sure what was going on, or what could or should be going on, and my brain didn't seem to want to focus on anything.

He tried to help me clean up afterwards, attempting to dry the dishes as I washed. I suspected he felt that it was a suitably domestic thing to do, which was ironic because for the three years we had actually lived together, he hadn't attempted to do any housework at all.

"Please don't do that." I said to him.

"It's fine," he assured me. "I'd like to help!"

"No, Sherlock, I'm not being a kind host. You're making a mess. Seriously, how is it possible that the plates you've dried are wetter than they were when you started?" I looked more closely and frowned. "No really; how have you done that?"

"It's not my fault! I think your drying cloth thing is faulty."

I glanced across. "That's not a tea-towel, that's one of my t-shirts."

He peered at it. "Oh. They should make these more absorbent."

"They don't have to. They've made tea-towels for absorbency. Now go into the lounge and find something dreadful to watch on the telly, I'll be finished in a minute."

oOo

I was finished quite quickly, and I went through to him with after dinner tea and sat next to him. We both stared at the telly, failing completely to talk until Scarlet woke up, and then we took her for a walk to the park. She insisted on pushing her new pram so we dropped the idea of walking all the way to Regent's park and just went to the small playground around the corner. I was relieved and sank onto a bench to watch Sherlock and Scarlet play together for a while.

Scarlet was completely and utterly besotted with Sherlock. She had been pretty much from day one. It took him slightly longer to get comfortable with her, and I was frankly astonished that he'd made the effort at all, but it did seem now that he loved her. He certainly enjoyed being with her. I was glad. There weren't an awful lot of people in Scarlet's life and I liked the fact that she clearly adored one the few people she did have.

Every now and again, I wondered what would happen to Scarlet should something happen to me. I suspected she would do well with Sherlock.

The oddest thing was that getting to know Scarlet hadn't made the slightest difference to Sherlock's attitude to other children. I'd seen him with others, looking at them like they were tiny alien beings at best, and abhorrent monsters at worst.

One of my many, many concerns regarding Sherlock and recent developments was how he would fit into Scarlet's life, were we to progress a relationship. I was fairly sure that there were all manners of warnings about introducing a new, significant adult into a child's life, and there were guidelines and advice and suggestions. I felt the heavy weight of there being yet another thing that I should look into and faced the fact that I couldn't be bothered.

After a while Scarlet got tired, and Sherlock carried her home while I carried her pram. They sat and played at the flat while I made them cheesy scones for supper and somehow the time passed in a blur and it was suddenly bedtime.

"Night night, Shock." Scarlet said to him, giving him a messy, wet kiss.

"Good night, Turnip," he replied. I saw him wipe his face when she wasn't looking, but he was smiling. It occurred to me that perhaps Scarlet and I could fulfil something that had been lacking in Sherlock's life. It then occurred to me that perhaps we already had been, and I had completely and utterly failed to notice.

I carried her to bed and settled her down with a bottle of milk. I stayed for a few minutes as I always did, singing her a song. For some reason 'Life on Mars' was what sprung into my head that evening. I sang more quietly than usual because I didn't want Sherlock to hear.

I walked past my bedroom and went straight back to the living room. I clearly needed to have a conversation with him and besides, I didn't want him to come in and find me lying on the bed, mid meditation.

I stood there for a moment, looking at him from the doorway. I found I really didn't want to do this. I just wanted to bury myself in him and hug him for a while. I found myself longing to kiss him again which surprised me. I stood there, frozen with indecision again for a moment.

He turned to look at me and smiled, but the smile quickly faded into a frown.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

That, I suppose was the question.

"Yes," I lied. I went over to sit on the sofa with him. I put my feet up on the seat and held on to them for comfort. I breathed into my knees for a moment, wondering how to start. And how it would all finish.

"John, do you think it's possible that there's something wrong with you?" he asked me. I looked up at him, surprised. "I mean something physically wrong. Are you ill?"

I laughed briefly. "Yes, Sherlock. Yes I am ill. I am depressed. I have Depression. I'm fairly sure that I've mentioned this some two or three times today."

"No, I know that. I mean like a virus. You're showing physical symptoms of something."

I frowned. "Such as?"

"Well, you're exhausted for one thing. You walked five hundred yards to the park and virtually collapsed in an exhausted heap when you got there. You're not eating either. You spent over an hour today cooking a meal that you mostly just pushed round your plate. I don't think you've been sleeping properly recently either. I just wonder if there's something wrong with you that you haven't noticed because of the Depression."

I stared at him for a moment.

"I just thought," he continued, "that maybe if you felt physically better, it might help with the other thing."

"Sherlock, all of those things, all of them, are physical symptoms of the depression."

He frowned.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. How can you not know this? You're, we'll you're _you_ and you know everything. It's the most commonly diagnosed illness in Britain. Chances are you've worked with a number of people who are depressed; I'd have thought you'd have absorbed some understanding of it."

"Well, it's never been particularly relevant to me," he told me.

"Well it's relevant to me!"

He looked over at me with a frown. I hadn't intended to snap so harshly. Fortunately he didn't look upset or hurt. Just confused and perhaps slightly concerned.

"Sorry. Sorry, sometimes I find it hard to stay calm."

"You've always found it hard to stay calm."

I smiled. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

"But you've always been able to stay calm when necessary."

I tensed for a moment. "Not any more."

He sat there for a few moments, just observing me. I rubbed my head for a while and urged myself to continue.

"Sherlock, what I said before... about this not being a particularly good time for me to start a new relationship..." I stopped.

My thoughts wandered to the starts of other relationships I'd had. Some of them hadn't started as well as today had gone. I thought about the day and Scarlet being enchanted with her new pram. I thought about Mary and how much she'd have enjoyed today. Me kissing Sherlock notwithstanding. Though maybe she would have done; she'd always liked a laugh.

"John!"

I looked up at Sherlock.

"You know you didn't finish your sentence?"

"What? Oh. Sorry. How did it start again?"

"'Sherlock, what I said before about this not being a particularly good time for me to start a new relationship.' Though I'm not entirely sure I want to hear the rest of what you were going to say."

"Oh, sorry. I drifted off."

"I noticed."

"Well, this is it, isn't it. This is part of it. Sherlock, at the moment I'm likely to drift off mid sentence and lose my way. I'm likely to snap, I'm likely to have no energy for walking to the park or to do... well to do many things. There will be times I don't want you anywhere near me because I'd like the whole world to go away, and you might well not be an exception to that. I will probably lie to you about how I'm feeling; if you ask I'll say I'm fine even if I'm not.

"It's a lot. It's a lot to expect someone to put up with, especially in a new relationship and I'm saying that if you don't want that... well, it might be better to wait a while."

I watched as Sherlock absorbed this.

"Is that what you'd prefer? To wait?" he asked me. "Because I've pretended not to be attracted to you for the past seven years, I imagine I could keep going with that a while longer if you want me to."

"I don't know, Sherlock," I told him honestly. "I swear I genuinely don't know what I want right now. And I need you to understand that that's not a reflection on you, I just can't..." I gave a small, hollow laugh. "Christ, Sherlock, yesterday I had a panic attack because I couldn't work out what I wanted to watch on TV. The idea of making a decision of this magnitude is so far beyond my ability right now it's not even funny. It's a symptom. I'm sorry; I honestly can't help it."

I felt tears coming again but I fought them. Obviously Sherlock noticed.

"John..." he started.

"No, it's nothing. It's just another symptom. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise for having an illness, John."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Thankfully, he let this go. I calmed myself down but I couldn't work out what to say next. Sherlock, once again, helped me out.

"Well, can I ask you some questions?"

"OK, I suppose so."

"Do you like me being here right now? Or are you secretly wishing I could leave so you can get back to routine. I don't mind, I just think it would be helpful data to have."

"I like you being here."

"OK, well then I'll stay for a while. Did you like me holding you this morning, or was it an invasion of your space you found uncomfortable?"

"It was a shock, but I found it... nice."

"Good. Are you sure?"

"Yes." His hand was on the sofa between us so I took hold of it. He looked down at it, but didn't pull away.

"OK, good. Did you like the kissing?"

"I... did."

"OK then. Well, let's just assume that all of those things will continue to happen." He looked across at me. "Is there anything else you want to happen?"

"I don't know."

"Well then, anything else can wait for a while."

"OK. Good. Thank you." I looked at him for a while. "One thing I think I should do is see a doctor and sort out some medication for myself."

He immediately frowned. "What? You're ill, you know you're ill, and you're not taking medication?"

"No, well, I didn't have quite so much incentive to try to get better before."

"What? You'll take medication for me but not for Scarlet?"

That stung and I pulled my hand away from him and looked away.

"No, John, I didn't mean to upset you... I'm... Well to be quite honest, I'm incredibly flattered."

I couldn't look at him for a moment. Once again I fought the urge to run away into the bedroom and slam the door on him.

"John, what is it? What's going on? I need you to explain this to me."

I tried to draw breath for a moment. My head throbbed horribly. This was going to be too hard, I knew. Sherlock would need everything explaining to him, and I didn't have the energy to do it. I shook my head and tried not to gulp and cry.

I suddenly felt his hand on my arm, gently stroking then squeezing my wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's fine. You don't need to explain."

I sniffed. "So you understand then?"

"No. But you don't need to explain. I'm happy to live in ignorance."

I snorted and wiped my face on my sleeve. "No you're not Sherlock." I let him take my hand again. He stoked the back of my hand with his thumb and it felt strangely hypnotic. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to ignore the pain in my head.

"OK, the thing is, Sherlock, when you said that, what I heard was 'you're a terrible parent and all the decisions you've made in the past year are going to slowly destroy your child'."

"But that's crazy! You know I think you're a good parent, and you know I think Scarlet's amazing. Why would you ever think such a thing?"

I smiled at him. "This is what I'm saying, Sherlock; it's another symptom. I know that, but it doesn't make it easier to deal with. A lot of the time it gets really hard to see what's a symptom and what's just me. Like the snapping; is that because I'm struggling, or is that because I'm a bad tempered arse? I don't know. Sometimes I can tell that you don't think I'm a bad parent, but other times... it's so abundantly obvious that I am a bad parent that I wouldn't actually blame you for calling me on it. It doesn't matter how hard I tell myself otherwise because the Better Angels are being drowned out by the screaming of the Black Dog, and I can't get past that.

"This is what I'm saying; right now, I really don't know what's real, what's me and I'm so you're going to spend the first few months of our potential relationship not knowing whether you're talking to me, John Watson, or whether you're talking to the... Black Dog."

I felt exhausted after this and tried to just smile at him, but from the concern in his eyes I didn't think the smile worked.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"You keep saying that."

"Yes. It's another symptom."

He frowned. "Repetition?"

I laughed. "No, continual and colossal guilt."

"Oh. It has a lot of symptoms doesn't it?"

"Yes. Lots. You'll be glad to know that I don't have them all, and sometimes I don't seem to have any. Fatigue. Fatigue is another symptom." I yawned and drooped.

He pulled me downwards so I was lying on the sofa with my head resting on his lap.

"Is that why you didn't medicate? Because you don't have all the symptoms?"

I looked up at him. "No. I'm not looking to collect the full set. It's just... it's medication to alter my brain chemistry. I worry about handing my thought processes over to a drug."

"But it will make you feel better."

"Yes. Maybe. Hopefully anyhow. But I still fear it. Sorry, fear of the medication, not wanting to admit that you need it is..."

"Another symptom?"

"Yes. I see you're beginning to catch on."

"I'm a fast learner."

I smiled at him. Something came back to me from the conversation and I frowned.

"Wait a minutes, you said you'd been pretending not to be... for seven years? _Seven years? _ We've only known each other seven years."

"Yes I know." He smiled down at me. "I fell for you the day after we met."

I frowned and thought about this. "Really? Was it because I shot the cabbie?"

"No, it was before that."

I thought again. "Before that you shook me off and told me you were married to your work."

"Well yes, I wasn't attracted to you then. And you weren't really making a pass then so don't pretend you were now, after the fact."

"OK. So at some point between then, and me shooting the cabbie you suddenly found you were attracted to me?"

"Yes."

I stared at him and he smiled again. "OK, fine, it was after you ran across London with me. 'Welcome to London,' and I was cross and you laughed and... then I wasn't cross any more. I realised that I didn't want to be with anyone else."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugged. "I didn't think I'd need to. And then you were with other people and they made you happy. Sometimes they made you very happy."

"And you didn't want that for you?"

"No, relationships are on the whole inconvenient, messy things. I was happy enough to pretend."

I frowned. "So what's changed?"

"Well, currently there is no-one in your life, making you happy."

My head spun slightly and I rubbed my hand over my forehead. "But relationships are inconvenient and messy. So what's in it for you?"

He gave me a look that clearly said 'idiot'. "You."

My head spun some more and I found that try as I might, I couldn't make sense of this revelation.

"I'm shattered. I need to go to bed, Sherlock. I know it's early but I'm tired."

"It's fine."

"Yeah, not very romantic for you though. Sorry."

He smiled at me. "It's fine. Fortunately I don't do romance either."


	5. Depression 4

**Hi – I'm going to put up another Angst warning on this chapter. I'm not apologising for it, as much as giving you as specific head's up that this chapter will raise the subject of suicide. It's not intended to upset or offend, and if you're in any place where this might be upsetting for you, then skip ahead. **

**Pip**

**

* * *

**_22 months_

I woke up to the sound of Turnip singing in her cot. It suddenly turned into a call for John and a demand for breakfast and John groaned and buried his face in his pillow.

Yesterday had been the first normal, working day after Christmas, and though I'd said several times that he didn't need to medicate himself on my behalf, he'd stubbornly gone to the hospital, spoken with someone (he didn't tell me whom), and had returned with a packet of pills which he tried to hide from me. Though I'd decided against continuing the pretending game, I let it pass in this instance, and hadn't drawn attention to it.

He had tried not to let me see that he'd taken one, and he'd gone to sleep quickly, lying in my arms and had immediately slept quite deeply. Then, a few hours later, he'd woken and spent some time vomiting, and this had continued at irregular intervals through the night. At first he'd tried hard not to disturb me, even though I said it didn't bother me. It had been the truth. John and I were closest to each other at night, when we were alone and in the same bed. Unfortunately I wasted so much of this time sleeping, much as I tried hard not to. Tonight I'd been able to enjoy that initial ten minutes of closely cuddling him some six or seven times. Eventually he'd become too exhausted and drained to care about anything and there was no way he was in a fit state to deal with Turnip this morning.

"It's all right," I told him, "I'll get her up."

"You don't have to," he mumbled into his pillow.

"I know."

I kissed him on the base of his neck but he didn't move. I'd lied when I said I don't do pity. Well, perhaps it wasn't quite a lie, but I was certainly feeling some sympathetic emotion to seeing him like this. I once again felt a moment of... something... when I thought that he'd was doing this for me.

I left him and wandered through to Turnip.

"Shock!" she said, standing at the side of her cot and grinning at me.

There were probably three people in the world who didn't grimace when they saw me come into a room. There was only one person who would actually beam with pleasure each and every time I appeared. In never failed to charm me, even when, like now, she was smelling quite offensive and had a long stream of snot trailing down her face.

"Shall we get breakfast?" I asked her.

She nodded and held her arms up to me.

I spent some time cleaning her and I put her into her high chair in the kitchen.

"Right," I said to her, "my culinary skills are somewhat lacking, Turnip, but I can make you Cheerios or toast."

"Yes."

"No, it's a choice; which do you want? Cheerios or Toast."

She appeared to think about this, though it was as likely she'd just been distracted by something shiny in the corner. "Cheerios," she said eventually.

"OK then." I gave her what appeared to be a sizable portion and put bread in the toaster for me and flicked the kettle on. She ate her Cheerios one by one, with her fingers.

"You have a spoon, Turnip."

"Don't want spoon."

I shrugged. It struck me that it didn't really matter as long as food was going in. I buttered my toast and sorted out coffee and sat down again.

"Want toast," she told me, eyeing mine with a look of a scavenger eyeing up a tasty carcass.

"No, you wanted Cheerios."

"Peeeeeeeas can I have toast?" I broke a section off my own and she ate it happily.

"Chank oo, Shock."

"Turnip, it's Sherlock. Sher-lock."

"Not Turnip. Scar-yot." She told me.

"Touché," I said.

She turned her attention back to her breakfast.

We spent a happy morning just playing in the flat. It's odd; when Turnip was new, I had dreaded the age where she'd actually want to have some input from me. It was fine when she was content to be carried or pushed and I could talk freely to her about subjects _I_ was interested in. I had assumed that I would not want to play childish games with her though. I had assumed I would find this boring.

What had actually happened was that Turnip had become an like animated version of my violin. She gave me something to do which required little actual input, and on a surface level only, leaving me free to think about whatever else I wanted to. The added benefit to Turnip, was that when I didn't have anything else to think about, she was in herself a reasonably interesting study. I found it fascinating to watch her learn things, and to work out what was holding her attention and to try to work out why that would be.

I knew that she'd love the pram that I'd bought her. Despite her youth she had a passion for pretending she had babies and dependants, using her dolls and teddy bears as if they were her children. Occasionally I witnessed her taking to them with phrases that I knew much have come from John. I wondered if this was a normal stage of child development, and whether I'd ever gone through such a stage. It didn't seem likely.

I checked on John several times through the morning, and he seemed fine. The sickness seemed to be over and he was sleeping heavily.

I made Turnip more toast for lunch, this time with beans which I'd somehow managed to make touch cold for my taste. I watched as, with magician-like skill, she diligently spooned them to her mouth, but somehow getting the vast majority of them into her hair.

John emerged after lunch, walking like a zombie, past us and into the kitchen.

I followed him.

"Thanks for having her," he said, through a yawn.

"It's fine. It's really no problem."

He yawned again.

"You can go back to bed, you know," I told him.

He yawned again and shook his head. "I have to drink something or I'll be even worse off tonight."

"Water or tea?"

"Water. Then tea." He yawned again. He appeared to be almost unable to shut is mouth. I must have been frowning because he looked at me and shook his head. "Sorry. It's a side effect."

I couldn't quite believe that. "Yawning is? _Yawning_ is a side effect?" I went to grab the information sheet from his box of pills. He watched, blankly as I did so, failing to notice that I knew exactly where he'd put them. I read through quickly. "Yawning _is_ a side effect! That's the strangest thing!" I read on. "Vivid dreams too! How on earth can medication cause you to have vivid dreams?"

"Sherlock, they're altering my brain chemistry. If it said 'will make you understand Latin' I wouldn't be surprised."

He yawned again. Before he could shut his mouth a second yawn seemed to hit him, then a third. I counted forty-nine seconds before he could shut his mouth again. I watched in wonder.

"Maybe I should get the peas out and use you for target practise!" I told him.

He snorted and stared at the table for a while. I got up to get him water and tea.

"Do you want to eat something too?" I asked him.

He grimaced and shook his head. "No, this will do."

He drank half the water, then sipped at the tea for a while. After a few minutes of this he slumped forwards and rested his head on his arms. I felt moved for him again and ran my fingers through his hair.

"You know," he mumbled through his arms, "I'm going to have more sympathy with my patients when they tell me they're struggling with the side effects of these things."

"Mm. You know, I'm firmly of the opinion that all doctors should test all the things they prescribe to patients."

"That's ridiculous. You don't test all murder weapons do you?"

"Some of them I do. You know that."

He turned his head to look at me. "Please stop doing that."

"How long do these side effects last?"

He made a complicated, half-hearted shrug. "Dunno. Maybe five days for some of them. Longer for others. I dunno. Sorry."

"You're apologising again."

"I know. Sorry."

"Is it a symptom or a side effect?"

"Symptom."

"So the pills aren't making you feel better?"

He yawned again. "I've taken one, Sherlock. So no, not yet. I probably won't see any difference for the first six weeks. Maybe longer."

"Six weeks!"

"Maybe longer." He closed his eyes again. "They might not work at all."

"What? How can they not? You can't be going through this for nothing!"

He did that complicated shrug again.

"So what will you do if they don't work?" I demanded.

"Try something else. Another SSRI or a tri-cyclic."

He was talking in a mumbled monotone. It took him a while to get 'SSRI' out.

"It seems very imprecise," I told him. "Especially for something coming out of a hard science."

"Well, it's brains, isn't it. They don't all work the same way. Some people react differently. Some people don't get side effects. Some people find they work brilliantly. For some other people they don't seem to work at all."

He turned his head and opened his eyes to look at me, in a bleary fashion. He moved one of his hands slightly in order to hold mine.

"We'll keep trying, Sherlock."

I squeezed his hand. "But will they all make you feel this unwell?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably not as bad for another SSRI because I'll be used to the base chemicals, the tri-cyclics have their own set of side effects, but they might work better for me. I don't know."

"If the others might work better for you, then why did you start with this one?"

"Because it's best practice to start with SSRIs It's what we do. 'We' as in doctors."

"Why?"

His head turned back away from me but he continued to talk to me in a dull, calm, monotone.

"Because if they do work, they'll work well. And because I could take a whole pack of what I've got and I'd be ill but I'd get better. With some of the tri-cyclics I could take a whole packet and be dead within half an hour. It's not a good idea to give such a thing to people who might be suicidal."

"But you're not suicidal."

He was quiet for a moment. I couldn't work out whether he'd just lost track of the conversation again, or whether he was disagreeing with me. I began to understand what he had said a few days ago, about relationships being hard when this sort of communication problem was going on.

"John, have you been suicidal ever?"

"No. Well, not in the way you mean anyway."

I frowned. "How is it a complicated term? Have you ever wanted to kill yourself or not?" I could hear the tension in my voice and regretted it, but I was becoming strangely stressed by this talk from him.

"No," he droned on, quietly, "I've never been suicidal like that I've always known for sure I wouldn't kill myself ever. But as a doctor, that's not the only definition of the term suicidal. We sometimes talk about suicidal musings, where people think about suicide in an abstract way. Knowing that they'll never do it, but thinking about ways in which they could, thinking about how nice it would be to be... removed from the world... to stop existing, even if they know for sure that they'd never take the action for themselves."

I felt dizzy. "And you've had that?"

"Yes. It's a symptom I've had."

"So you couldn't have the other pills. Even though you'd never... take action."

"No. The problem we have, again, 'we' as in doctors, is that we don't know which of our patients will switch from suicidal musings to having suicidal tendencies or being actively suicidal. It's not a good idea to give such people a mechanism they can use. Especially if they're a doctor and they know exactly how many pills to take. If you're reasonably confident that someone isn't even close to actively suicidal, then sometimes Tri-cyclics are the best way forwards. But there's also no point trying if SSRIs work well anyhow."

"But you wouldn't... you wouldn't suddenly become actively suicidal."

He shrugged again. "Probably not. It's actually very rare."

"But you wouldn't anyway!" I told him desperately. "You couldn't. You'd hurt Scarlet! You'd hurt me."

He snorted, humourlessly. "Sherlock, you'd be amazed what you can justify to yourself when your logic and reason have been removed from you. Some, not all, but some suicides happen because people genuinely believe that killing themselves is the right thing to do, and they're not able to understand any of the arguments against. They think that it will be better for other people. Not all of them. Some are just angry but they honestly believe that killing themselves is a rational, reasonable punishment, for themselves or for other people. There are other reasons too. None of it is based on logic. All of them are killed by the illness in the end."

I briefly wondered if I was going to cry. John wasn't crying. He seemed numb. My heart, however, was racing, hearing all of this from him. He didn't seem to notice.

"But Scarlet..." I started. "You couldn't leave Scarlet behind! Sometimes you can barely leave her in the next room!"

"In some of my musings, leaving Scarlet behind wouldn't be a problem."

I froze. I felt briefly nauseous and struggled to breathe. He hadn't seemed to react to any of this conversation at all. He just talked through it in a dull voice, and part of me suspected he was simply too exhausted to censor himself. Something, however, got through to him now, and he seemed to register my distress on some level, somewhere.

He turned to look at me and as he focused on me he looked hurt and angry. He pulled his hand from mine and sat up.

"You asked me, Sherlock," he said, "and I answered."

He yawned again, but I didn't find it funny any more. It looked odd, tearing his face apart while his eyes remained angry and sad.

I couldn't work out what to say. I wanted to comfort him but had no idea what I was dealing with and I couldn't find the words. He pulled himself up and away.

"Well, the tea was a mistake," he said, and he stalked from the room to throw it back up again.

I gave him fifteen minutes of privacy, and then went into his bedroom. He was lying on the bed with an arm draped across his face.

"John, I need to go into town to pick up some things. I'll take Turnip with me."

He sneered. "You don't have to take her, Sherlock. She's not in any danger from me. You don't need to protect her from me."

"I know," I told him, but I felt like I didn't know anything about him any more. "I'm just taking her so you don't have to get up and play with her."

He moved his arm from his face and looked at me. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. This is what I've been trying to explain. This stuff... it isn't easy for me to talk about, and it won't be easy for you to hear. If you want to walk away, you should."

"I don't," I told him. I sat down on the bed and leant forward to kiss him firmly on the lips. I felt him relax under me before he pushed me away.

"No don't. I've been being sick, Sherlock."

"I don't care," I told him and leaned forwards again but he pushed me away with a smile.

"Don't be gross."

I smiled back at him. "I'm taking Turnip into town. Is there anything you need?"

He thought about it. It was against his instincts to ask me for even simple things but he gave in. "Yes, some full sugar coke and Jacob's crackers."

"Fine. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

oOo

I took Turnip in a cab to Oxford Street, and pushed her into the Waterstones there. I found a teenager with a name-badge and asked here where the books on Depression were. She showed me to the relevant area where there were three whole shelves devoted to the subject.

"Which of these is the best one?" I asked her.

She just shrugged. "I haven't wanted to read any of them."

I glared at her. "Lucky you."

She left and I pulled several of the books off the shelves and sat on the floor to start reviewing them. A small hand reached out and pulled a curl in my hair just behind my ear. I yelped.

"Not now, Turnip!" I said to her.

She was not to be deterred and grabbed my hair again. She giggled when I yelped again.

"No! Turnip; I'm busy!"

The next time she did it, she didn't let go and I spent several seconds trying to extract myself from her. When I was eventually free, I pulled her pushchair round to talk to her properly.

"Turnip, I know you're bored, but it's really, really important that I do this now. I _have_ to understand this. It's _important!_ It matters to your Dad and it really matters to me. Do you think you could leave me alone for..." I looked at the bookshelves and calculated, "ninety minutes. Just an hour and a half, and then I'll be done."

She blew a raspberry at me and giggled.

I spun the pushchair round and slightly away towards a handy stand with reference books on it. I picked up a small Atlas and handed it to her.

"Look, Turnip! The world!"

She took it and started turning the pages so I sat back down, relieved.

I had selected six purchases, but only managed to get through the first shelf when I was interrupted again.

"Sir? Sir! Your daughter's eating a book!"

I looked over. Turnip had pulled most of the reachable books from the shelves and was happily gnawing on an Oxford Pocket Dictionary. She'd made quite a good job of it, with most edges showing teeth-marks and several pages had been pulled out.

"I don't think it will harm her." I told the shop assistant, who was annoyingly the same one from earlier.

"You'll have to pay for it!" she told me.

I waited until she was leaving and pulled a face at her. I looked back at Turnip.

"Turnip! It wasn't a big ask! I just needed ninety minutes." She just grinned at me. "All right, fine, let's go home."

I detoured to the children's section and tried to interest her in something more age-appropriate, but she wasn't giving up her dictionary, so I gave up.

We were back at the flat forty-five minutes later, having stopped at a newsagent for the coke and crackers for John. He was up and about when we got back to the flat. I was surprised, he was even dressed and had showered.

He got Turnip out of her pushchair and took off her coat and shoes.

"I've missed you today, Scarlet," he told her. "Did you have a nice time with Sherlock?"

"I ate book!"

He looked over at me with his eyebrows raised.

"It was just a dictionary. You might want to keep an eye out; if she becomes garrulous in future years, this might be why."

He laughed and I felt a sudden thrill that despite everything, I could still make him laugh.

"Right, she'll need supper." John walked past me to the kitchen, running a hand over the small of my back as he did so.

"I can cook it, if your stomach's still off," I told him.

"No, I'm fine. Besides, I think she should eat a meal today that doesn't involve toast. I'll do her some pasta. Do you want some?"

"Are you eating?"

"God no."

"Then I won't."

"That's ridiculous."

I shrugged and watched him as he pottered around. I took over to supervise her eating as John was flagging and then I asked if I could put her to bed.

"You can."

I frowned. "Do I have to sing to her?"

"I don't know. Scarlet, does Sherlock have to sing to you?"

"Yesss."

"There you go," he told me, "you have to sing."

oOo

He was smirking when I got back, twenty minutes later.

"What was that?"

"That was 'Se a Caso Madama' from The Marriage of Figaro. Philistine."

He smiled again and pulled me down to the sofa with him. He kissed me. I was surprised; most of our kisses so far had been instigated by me. He tasted of toothpaste again and I pulled away.

"Have you been sick again?"

"What? Oh, no. I just thought I ought to make a bit of an effort, that's all."

"You don't need to."

He smiled and kissed me again. It was long and deep and I relaxed into it and some of the stresses I'd felt about him during the day started falling away. I began to feel that despite the things I'd learned about him today, he was still the same person I wanted. He was still My John. Somewhere, trapped inside this illness, was My John. I flicked his t-shirt out of the way and slipped my hand under it, feeling the skin of his back against my palm. He put his hand in my hair, playing with the same curl that Turnip had pulled earlier. It felt nicer now. My hand was at the base of his neck and I scratched him gently down his spine and smiled as he shuddered.

We broke apart again. My heart was racing. He frowned and looked at me.

"Sherlock, I meant what I said earlier. If you want, you can walk away. Do you want to?"

"What? You ask me that now? After you kissed me like that?"

He shrugged. "I felt the need to tip the odds in my favour slightly."

I kissed him again. "The odds," I murmured through the kiss, "are in," another kiss, "your favour."

We kissed some more and the feeling of him stroking the hair at the top of my neck nearly drove all other thoughts from my head. Suddenly I remembered I had something important to ask him and I pulled away.

"John..." he looked at me. "John, could you promise me that if you ever get to... musing... again, you will tell me?"

He frowned. "What would you do about it?"

I considered this. "I haven't the faintest idea. But I've bought some books. And the main thing is that I would know. I think it would be better if I at least knew."

He sighed and rested his forehead against my shoulder.

"No," he said eventually. "No, I can't promise you that, Sherlock. It doesn't work that way; I might not even recognise it myself." He sighed again and he looked at me. "I can promise you that I will _try_."

I nodded. "Good enough. Then please be assured that I don't want to leave. In the past five days, we've had a couple of hour-long, difficult and painful conversations. There have been maybe two hours of accumulated other time when I've been concerned that you're showing symptoms. The rest of the time has been normal. It's been... fine. And there are other times that are so mind-blowingly good that the rest can't compare anyway. Especially when you let me do things like this..."

I scratched down his back again and he shuddered and breathed hot breath against my neck. I grinned and I settled down to an evening of kissing John.

* * *

**This chapter has been made possible by my wonderful children, who have spent the whole day playing reasonably happily with each other with minimal demands for attention from me. The cats have been less understanding.  
**

**This is the last of the 'base' chapters and then we'll be onto something else, so future chapters are not likely to be published quite so quickly depending on whether I have something in my head or not, and might well come from other ages and stuff. Like with Just For Fun, if there's something you want to see, let me know.**

**Pip.**


	6. Valentine's Day 1

_Two, less one day._

I was feeling fairly upbeat as I went up in the lift at Bart's hospital. I was pleased. I had made a decision. Better than that, I had formed a _plan._

I would be the first to admit that not everything was completely resolved and straight forward yet, eight weeks into my apparent relationship with Sherlock. There were two fairly big areas I would refer to as _problems_ but I resolved to let myself focus on the plan for today and get back to everything else tomorrow. Or some other time. After all, refusing to acknowledge and deal with a problem was working very well for me so far.

My plan, for today, was to have a romantic date with Sherlock. He had finished a case earlier in the week and appeared to have some free time, he'd been exceptionally and uncharacteristically patient with me over the past eight weeks, and he deserved a romantic meal out with the man of his dreams (a buzz of excitement that this might be me) on Valentine's Day. This was the plan I had. It had only occurred to me today but since it had, I was fully committed to Making It Happen.

Sherlock had continued to take care of Scarlet so I could attend my appointments with Sheila, which is where I had just been. Following that hour of dull nothingness, I went straight onto Bart's to talk to Mike.

Mike, my GP Chris, and I had an agreement. The agreement was that I could continue seeing Mike for matters relating to my depression, which Chris had agreed to as long as my medical notes were kept up to date. Mike had agreed as long as I saw him regularly so that he could properly take care of my condition and properly discuss matters with me rather than letting me dictate to him how I wanted to be treated. At first it had seemed reasonable all round. As my head had started to clear it had become more obvious to me how these two were going out of their way for me, and I was grateful to both. I had also resolved that I would start going through proper channels for my treatment at some point. But not yet.

I therefore went to see Mike every two weeks, after my appointment with Sheila, and he checked me over and gave me a new prescription. At some point he'd sign me off and put me on a regular repeat prescription, but he wasn't ready to do this yet and I wasn't in a position to push him.

I knocked and stuck my head round his office door but he was in a meeting with a student. I disappeared out again and waited, reading the notices on the board. Dr Shilling was retiring. One of the wheels in my mind started whirring as I considered that that meant there would be a vacancy for a lecturer in trauma surgery. They'd probably be looking for someone to start from September. The small wheel in my mind found that interesting.

Mike's door opened again and the student emerged, sniffing and wiping her eyes with a tissue. Mike watched her go, then beckoned me in.

"Have you been making the girls cry again, Mike?"

He sighed. "You know that there are some people, who regardless of how well intentioned they might be, shouldn't be allowed to practise medicine on real people?" He sighed again. "I suggested she went into research. It didn't go down well. Anyhow, enough about that. Sit down, roll up your sleeve."

I of course obeyed him and he quickly took my blood pressure.

"It's low," he told me. "In fact it's lower than it was last time. Are you still getting dizzy spells?"

"Sometimes. I thought less but it might be that I'm better at avoiding them now."

"Mm."

He stared at me, weighing things up. At first figuratively, and then literally as he demanded that I stood on the scales.

"You've lost another pound and a half."

"Well that's not that much..."

"Yes, but it means you're still on a downward trend. How is the eating?"

"Fine. Good."

"John..."

"OK, well, it's mostly fine. I'm not nauseous any more, I just... can't be bothered to eat. I keep forgetting. I'm not hungry. But I am trying; I've started eating with Scarlet so that helps."

"OK then. And what about other things? How are you feeling? Honestly."

"Better. Really, genuinely better. Perhaps not completely, but I'm panicking less, I'm happy to leave the house. I'm vaguely planning for the future."

He smiled warmly at me. "Good. Well what do you think then? I'm inclined to go another two weeks on these and see whether your blood pressure stabilises. If you can eat and drink during that time, it might well help."

"Fine."

"Good. Now I have a favour to ask you. Are you free tonight? I want to take Jane out and my babysitter's boyfriend called me to cancel her booking because he's taking her to Edinburgh to propose to her in front of the castle."

"Nice."

"Yes, lovely. But the registered service wants to charge me three times the odds to have a stranger sit with them because it's Valentine's Day. I thought maybe if you and Scarlet stayed in the spare room..."

"Oh! Ah. Damn. I was going to ask you if you could recommend someone to babysit Scarlet. I have... plans."

"Valentine's Day plans?"

"Yes."

He smiled at me again. "I didn't realise you were dating again, John! That's marvellous! Really, really marvellous! Is it someone I know?"

For some reason I could feel I was blushing and I could hear my pulse throbbing loudly in my ears. One of my two Problems was that I was acutely aware of the fact that I hadn't told anyone about Sherlock and me. It wasn't so much that I was keeping it a secret... it was just that I found a reason not to every time it arose. I hadn't even told Sheila who I suspected would have a field day with my sudden and first gay relationship. She'd also have a field day discussing why I hadn't discussed it with her.

It occurred to me that there was one way of making one of my Problems disappear. I had to say something to someone at some point.

I looked at him. "Actually it's Sherlock."

"Sherlock? _Sherlock?_" He stared wildly round the room. "John I... really, I mean..."

My pulse was deafening me again and I found I had to hang on to the chair I was sat on for fear of falling off.

"_Sherlock?_ Look John, I know that he's gorgeous and brilliant, but he's barely even housetrained!"

I breathed out and laughed. Unfortunately that made me quite light headed and Mike was suddenly concerned and holding my head down to my knees.

"I'm fine!" I told him.

"I want to take your blood pressure again."

"I'm fine!"

He gave me a suspicious look and handed me a bottle of water which I dutifully drank.

"Is he treating you well?"

"Yes. Yes he really is, he's behaving like... the perfect gentleman." I frowned. "Actually from Sherlock, it's quite odd."

It was odd. Sherlock had been extraordinarily well behaved in the past eight weeks. He had stayed at the flat virtually every night, but had never presumed to move his things in. He disappeared off to his flat every couple of days to pick up fresh clothes and sort out his laundry, even though I'd protested that I was happy to put it in with mine. He hadn't inserted his own routine over the top of mine and Scarlet's. He dressed in the morning rather than hanging around in his pyjamas all day complaining of boredom. He did his fair share of the shopping and was trying to learn to cook some of the meals. He had overcome his issues with the drying up and now considered that to be his job.

He had disappeared twice for work, once for two days and once for four and both times he'd stayed away completely. When he returned, he had been extremely apologetic for being so neglectful.

Now I had a chance to think about it, the whole thing was very, very odd. I became mildly panicked that I was actually some subject in one of his experiments. I tried to ignore that thought, but now it was in my head, it was annoyingly persistent.

"So, where are you taking him?" Mike cut into my thoughts.

"What? Oh, I don't know, I haven't decided yet."

"You've not booked in advance?"

My heart sank even further. He was right. I remember booking weeks in advance for a Valentine's Day table at a restaurant for Mary and me.

He smiled at me again. "I'm sure you'll work something out. Are you sure you're OK?"

I nodded. "Yes, fine. It was just... a dizzy spell."

"OK, well, try to keep an eye on these dizzy spells will you? And tell Sherlock to remind you to eat."

I snorted. "Yeah, that would be the blind leading the blind, wouldn't it?"

I called Sherlock when I got back outside and asked him if he was fine to watch Scarlet for another hour or so. He agreed happily and I set off to start working on a quickly formulated Plan B.

oOo

"Sherlock!" I called when I'd let myself into the flat, "You need to go home!"

"Why?" he called back.

"Because you need to go and get into your Sunday best, and then come back for eight this evening."

"I'm an Atheist from a family of Atheists. We didn't wear special clothes on a Sunday." He called.

"Don't be funny, you know what I mean!"

His head popped around the corner.

"Why?"

"No don't look! You'll spoil the surprise!"

It was too late. He'd scanned me up and down, taken in the bags from Marks and Spencer Food Halls. He'd know in an instant.

"I have no idea what you're planning," he told me.

"Sherlock!"

"You're going to make me a romantic meal!" He grinned at me.

I felt foolish. "Look, I know you said you didn't do romance, but..."

"No it will be nice. It's a nice idea. I didn't mean I was actively against romance; it's just that I don't necessarily require it. Eight o'clock you say?"

"Yes. I'm hoping Scarlet will be asleep. I forgot to book a babysitter. Or a restaurant. Sorry."

He came over and kissed me.

"I'll be back at eight."

He left.

oOo

An hour later, I got a phone call from Lestrade and my doubts about the evening deepened.

"John, is Sherlock with you? He said he was staying with you for a while," he asked me.

"No, he's at Baker Street for a bit."

"He's not answering his phone and I've got a case for him."

"Oh. Well he's not here at the moment."

"If you see him, could you let him know I need him?"

I sighed. "Yes, of course I will."

"OK thanks."

"Good bye then."

I was about to hang up when he interrupted again.

"John? Is everything OK with you? You've got Sherlock staying there... if there's anything you need help with; you'll let me know, won't you?"

"No, Greg, everything's fine. Sherlock's just... staying here."

"Oh. Oh, you're all right, John, I can see him coming. Bye then."

So Sherlock hadn't told anyone either. I was beginning to feel that my 'experiment' theory might be more right than wrong. Besides which, this was the first actual planned date that we'd had, such as it was, and he was on a case.

Five minutes later I got a text.

'_I will be there at eight. X'_

I stared at it and sighed. I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, I felt his body react when he kissed me. I knew that he wanted me. I knew that he wanted me sometimes quite desperately. He was either genuinely attracted to me, or he was an extraordinarily good actor.

Unfortunately, I knew that he was an extraordinarily good actor.

Scarlet was on the floor, lining up her miniature dolls so that she could roll a ball at them and knock them all down.

"Scarlet, do you think Sherlock loves me?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"Good. Do you think Sherlock loves PC Plum?"

"Yes."

"I see. Do you think he loves space-ships?"

"Yes."

"Are you listening to me at all?"

"Yes."

She rolled the ball and knocked four dolls down.

"Oh no! Now you go to hos-tipple!" She wheeled out her ambulance to deal with this horrific calamity.

I wandered back to the kitchen and decided to persevere with plan B.

oOo

Plan B was going reasonably well. Scarlet, after protesting because she wasn't allowed to stay up to eat at the pretty table with the candles, had gone to sleep reasonably well. The food seemed to be cooking according to plan. I showered, shaved and dressed. I scrolled through radio stations for something suitable to listen to over dinner.

With five minutes to spare I ran into a problem, in that I couldn't find my cufflinks. I knew I had a set, because Sherlock had given them to me as a gift before my wedding, but random routing around my bedroom didn't bring them to light. I was wearing the dark blue shirt and tie he'd given me for Christmas and of course it was excellent quality and of course it didn't have buttons.

I'd just started improvising with paperclips when he came through the door. The clock on the oven clicked over to 8:00 at exactly the same time. He stood in the doorway, looking at me. He was wearing a tuxedo. I was momentarily stunned.

He frowned. "What are you doing?"

I looked down at my wrists. "Oh. Er, cufflinks."

He smiled and came in. "They're in the dresser." He quickly rifled through one of the drawers and emerged with a small box. He came over and fixed them for me. He straightened my tie for me and held onto it as he kissed me lightly.

"You look nice," he told me.

"You look... you look... well, frankly I feel underdressed and inadequate."

He frowned and seemed concerned. "You shouldn't."

"No, I'm fine. But you look... incredible."

He smiled.

I found that I desperately hoped that this wasn't just a game for him. It was odd. Three months ago I wouldn't have entertained the idea that I might be in a romantic relationship with Sherlock. Well, insofar as I could entertain anything at all, three months ago. When he had told me, straight forwardly and clearly that he wanted to be with me, I found I wasn't surprised, I wasn't... I _clearly_ wasn't adverse to the idea, but I would never have made such a statement myself. I had genuinely never wanted Sherlock that way. And now I didn't want him to leave ever.

It felt as though he had hypnotised me.

I had a momentary panic about the idea of him having hypnotising me and he instantly frowned.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. It's fine."

He frowned at me. "Tell me."

I sighed. "Nothing. I've just been... wondering about things today."

"Musing?"

"What? No, nothing like that. I've felt completely free of that for... well, for a while anyway."

"Good."

"Sit down, I'll go and get the first course."

He sat. I served salad and poured wine. I felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. I wondered whether he'd find something to say to me but he didn't.

I floundered.

"How was the case?"

"Oh... it was nothing. Easy; I checked it out but they can manage without me."

"You walked away?"

He shrugged. "I can always go back tomorrow. After Scarlet's opened her birthday presents of course. And I could be back before we do her cake."

I put my fork down and sat back. "OK, Sherlock, what is wrong with you at the moment?"

"What do you mean?"

"You. You're being all... normal! No, not even normal, you're being nice!"

He looked hurt. "Is this how you generally start a romantic meal?"

"No, no, I'm sorry. That was unfair. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Let's get back to the meal."

We ate in silence for a while. Well, he did. I pushed my food around my plate for a while.

"I'm thinking of going back to work," I suddenly told him.

"Really? What about Scarlet?"

"Well, there's no reason for her not to start at a proper nursery."

"But you'll be working shifts."

"Oh, no, I wasn't thinking of going back on a rota, or even to being a GP. There's a vacancy for a teacher coming up at Barts. I was thinking of applying for that."

"Really? Would you enjoy that?"

"I think so. I don't think I'd hate it. I don't want to be a GP again anyhow, and I can't work shifts with Scarlet about."

He nodded. I wondered briefly if he was going to offer to help with childcare but he didn't.

"I'll go and get the fish," I told him. As I stood up, another dizzy spell hit me but it disappeared reasonably quickly. He was watching me like a hawk as I came back to the table. I felt uncomfortable again and at a loss for conversation.

I tried to think about what I'd say if this was a normal date.

"So, what was the case?"

"Today's? Oh, it was nothing. Let's not talk about work."

"But you like talking about work. You like showing off. I like you showing off its... you. I'm beginning to feel really nervous, Sherlock."

He sat back in his chair. "Nervous about what?"

I shrugged. "Nervous that this is all a game of 'let's pretend' for you. Nervous that this whole thing isn't happening at all and I'm going to wake up having had a crazy dream and you'll be back to normal again. Nervous that you're doing this for some reason that I just can't work out, but this isn't 'you'."

"You didn't want me when I was 'me'."

I stared at him. "So you thought you'd just have a complete personality transplant? You really think that's a sensible, long-term plan? I have to be with you as you or not at all."

"No. Not at all doesn't work for me. I'd prefer to be with you at whatever cost."

"Yes, for now. But you admit it's costing you something. Sooner or later you'll start resenting that cost and you'll leave."

"No I won't."

"Yes you will."

"No, I really won't. You're underestimating my capacity for pretending."

"No I'm not." I thought about his seven-years admission. "OK, yes I am. But let's think about this. When you went out on cases in the past few months, didn't you enjoy it? Didn't you get that thrill of freedom where you could just be yourself completely? Didn't you enjoy going back to your flat and being able to do whatever you wanted and to not bother with the social niceties that you feel you have to conform to when you're here?"

"Yes, I did, but that's precisely why my plan works. I'll have the opportunity to relax every now and again, which will make the long term plan of being here feasible."

"So you're not relaxed when you're here?"

"That's not what I meant."

"OK then. Answer this question. Where do you prefer being? Here or there?"

"Here of course. Of course here! _You're_ here."

"No, sorry, I worded my question wrong. Where do you prefer you are? No, that's not right either. Do you prefer who you are when you're there, or who you are when you're here?"

He stopped and stared and I knew what the answer was. I felt incredibly disappointed. I knew that it was all about to vanish again. I was also cross with myself for not noticing any of this before. I looked across at him and he too looked angry and sad. So much for a romantic meal. I could hear my pulse in my ears again and I put my head in my hands so that I could focus.

"John..." he was talking quietly to me, but I could hear his stress just at the sidelines. "John, this isn't fair. I was 'me' for seven years and you didn't want me. I had to make a change. Now you seem to be implying that I shouldn't be doing that and you won't be with me if I'm not being myself, when I know that you won't be with me if I _am_ being myself. It's a no-win situation for me. It's not fair!"

I was stunned. "Sherlock, you are my friend. I love you! I don't want to be responsible for turning you into someone you don't like being!"

I could see the anger flaring in his eyes. I expected him to throw his plate across the room at any second. He didn't, but he did start shouting.

"Fine, John, I'll be myself then, shall I? Let's have a look at how much John Watson is pretending to be someone that he isn't really, shall we? You haven't told a soul about the fact that you're in a relationship with me. You're not proud of who you are at the moment either!"

"I'm not ashamed of being with you!" I protested instantly.

"Yes you are, and that fact is making you ashamed of yourself too! You're ashamed that you haven't been happy to take my hand while we're walking along the street. You're ashamed that you haven't invited your friends around to introduce them to me, or to introduce them to the fact we're together."

"You haven't told your friend's either! Lestrade didn't know!"

"I haven't told anyone _because_ you haven't told anyone. I'm giving you time. Isn't that the polite thing to do? Isn't that more appropriate when one person in the relationship is still wondering whether he's just playing at being gay?"

I was stung. He was right, I was confused and though I was knew that I loved him, and I knew he was my friend, I couldn't yet be sure about us as Us. It felt wrong to still be wondering about that this far along. It was beginning to feel that I was stringing him along and that at some point I'd realise that it wasn't going to work and I'd be back to being John Watson, clearly a very straight man, and I'd want him to leave.

And he was right about him not telling people. I'd never asked him to, but I'd have been livid if he'd outed me to our friends, and we both knew it. Suddenly the fact that he wanted to pretend he wasn't the sort of person who would do that was beginning to make sense.

I looked across at him, he was still looking angry. I wasn't surprised, he'd clearly been bottling up a whole lot of 'Sherlock' and at some point it was going to explode. I didn't want it to, and I did at the same time. I wanted 'him' back, but I knew it wasn't going to be pretty.

It wasn't pretty.

"And let's face it, John, you know you like the kissing and the cuddling while we're nice and safe and protected within the flat and you can justify it as a minor extension of a close friendship." I braced myself. "But you don't want to have sex with me." I couldn't move under his gaze. "Do you?"

I didn't. This was my second Problem. I didn't want to have sex with the person I was in a romantic relationship with. My arms suddenly felt cold, resting on the table, and my head was swimming. I knew that it was all going to end right now, and it wasn't because of anything Sherlock was doing. It was my fault completely.

I looked across at him. There were tears in his eyes. Actual tears to go along with the angry expression and the tense body.

"I need to go," he told me heavily, then he exploded. "You've ruined everything!"

He stood to leave and I got up to follow him. I desperately wanted to make him stay, I wanted to apologise and go back to the point when we were pretending so he would kiss me and I'd wake up in his arms in the morning.

I took a step across the room and blacked out.

* * *

**What appears to be happening with this one is that most of the scenarios need to be two-parters so that we see both points of view, so the 'what happened next' part of this chapter will be up in the next couple of days (when I've thought of it).**

**Thank you for prompts – Alys5, I will definitely do a 'getting engaged' chapter and that will probably be followed by a wedding chapter. You need to hold you're horses for a 'first sex scene' though; I'm barely getting used to writing about nice little kisses and straightening of ties! I also want to keep this within the realms of the T rating for a couple more chapters, but I have a plan for the first sex scene which I'll start developing shortly, so watch this space.**

**Juxtaposed, I've always sort of assume that both of both families are dead, apart from Mycroft and Harry, so this one might take a while. I'll have a cogitate though, and mull it over, and see what comes out of it.**

**Once again, thanks for reading, and indeed reviewing. And Happy New Year to all of you. I celebrated by being fast asleep. It was nice.  
**


	7. Valentine's Day 2

_Two years, less one day_

I heard the thud behind me and I froze. I was angry still and wanted to leave, but my body turned me round anyway. John was lying on the floor. Suddenly Scarlet started wailing. It was my fault; that last bellow had ended up far louder than I'd anticipated. I cursed myself silently for that.

Regardless of how angry I was, I couldn't leave John unconscious on the floor while his two year old cried in her bedroom. Besides which, loathe as I was to accept it, I knew that this wasn't John's fault. It was a frustrating situation, and that was why I was angry. I knew it was unfair to direct all that anger at John, not least because I was ashamed of what I was doing to him too. The difference was that I knew what his game was, and he didn't know mine.

I wandered over and rolled John onto his back and put a sofa cushion under his legs and I loosened his tie, collar and belt. The shirt I'd bought for him was wrong. The blue was too dark and it didn't suit him at all. He looked better in paler colours. I briefly imagined him as a country vicar in some rural hamlet in the Home Counties, wearing a pale grey shirt and a dog-collar. Part of me stirred and I filed the image away for later.

I went to check on Scarlet. She wasn't really awake, or at least, she'd settled herself down again, but I stroked her forehead until her breathing slowed and she was fully asleep. She still slept with a thumb in her mouth and a hand grasping at her hair.

I stayed in the darkness of her bedroom for a moment, wondering if it was possible to fix this mess. I pulled my own tie loose, and dropped it along with my jacket on the floor just inside the front door. It seemed wrong to go and put them in John's room now.

When I got back to the front room John was conscious again and stirring. He'd propped himself up on an elbow and was attempting to sit up properly.

"No, stay where you are," I told him. "Lie back down for a bit." I went through to the kitchen to get him some water.

"I thought you'd gone," he said.

"No, I woke Scarlet. I went to settle her. I'm sorry."

I sat down on the floor next to him and wiped my face. He covered his face with his hands.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so, so sorry. It was wrong, I should have said something sooner."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I really, _really_ didn't want you to leave."

I drew a breath. It would appear that despite my anger, I sympathised for that position.

"You should leave," he told me. "I'm fine now. Thank you, for staying. Thank you for being with me so long. And for your patience. And for your efforts to be civilised. But you don't need to stay now, I'm fine."

He sounded weak and his hands were shivering. He was looking pale. I helped him sit up slowly to drink some water.

"John..." I found, uncharacteristically, that I didn't know how to continue. I was aware that I was in emotional turmoil, but I couldn't put words to any of it. Under usual circumstances, my preference was always to simply bury emotions that I couldn't understand until they went away. This didn't seem particularly sensible right now.

"Sherlock, it's fine," he gave a short laugh and lay back down. "I should have realised long before now that you knew. I can't keep secrets from you. I can't believe how slow on the uptake I've been of late. I'm sorry. But you should leave now."

"Stop saying that! I don't want to!" I blurted it out without thinking, but his insistent suggestion that I should just walk away was annoying me.

"Look," I said desperately, "can't we go back to pretending? Me pretending to be nice, you enjoying my company. You enjoy the kissing, I know you do! Can't we just do that?"

He was already shaking his head. "No Sherlock. It isn't fair. You can't just settle for a sex-less relationship. It isn't fair."

"Shouldn't that be up to me?"

"No, it should be up to us."

"Then I don't understand what the problem is! I want to stay, you want me to stay, we both enjoy the kissing. I don't know why you're still saying no."

He went quiet for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling. He'd had several 'blank' moments early on when he was still suffering badly from the depression, and I wondered if this was a recurrence of that, but he suddenly looked at me again.

"You know what the most ridiculous part of all this is?" he said to me, quietly. "It's the fact that I genuinely do love you. I do. I did early on, I certainly loved you as a friend, I immediately felt closer to you than some of my oldest friends, and you were more important to me than my family. And now, in this past eight weeks, I've loved you more and more. Not because of who you're being; the 'pretend Sherlock' was kind, but dull, and half an hour ago when you were completely you I was... frightened that I was going to lose you, but I loved you right then. I love the honest you.

"And I love your skin and the hair that curls round your neck. I love the way you look when you're sleeping, I love the way you look when you're on the floor, playing with Scarlet, I love that thing that you do with your mouth when I've said something stupid or funny, and that thing you do with your hands, and I don't mean when you're scratching me, but I do love that too, and I love when you kiss me all over my back. I love all of that.

"The really stupid thing is that I love you, and I want to have sex with you. Or I want to want to have sex with you but my stupid, _stupid_ body just doesn't want to respond."

I was stunned. It took me a few seconds for my brain to start working again after this, and when I did the first thing I was to replay the whole of this speech to make sure that I heard and understand it all and to make sure I would always be able to remember it. I then turned my attention back to John.

"John, I..."

Again, I couldn't work out what to say. When he'd told me he loved me earlier this evening, I hadn't doubted it. John had significantly more experience with these sorts of emotions than I did. Now I was certain of it. Nobody had ever said as much to me before and I didn't know how to respond.

I wondered if I loved John. I knew I felt a whole wealth of emotions which seemed to exist exclusively for him. I knew I liked him. I'd found him interesting from the beginning, and after that I'd liked him because... he has lots of qualities that I like. There was also the fact that I'd been drawn to him in general and that I wanted him physically. I wondered whether all of these things together equated to love.

I didn't feel comfortable enough with this hypothesis to say the words to him.

He was clearly waiting for me to say something.

"Do you think you can make it onto the sofa now? You can't be comfortable down there."

He nodded. "I think so."

He stood up with quite a lot of difficulty and I supported him under his arm so that he didn't collapse again until he was settled on the sofa. I perched next to him.

"John this dizziness isn't right is it?"

"No. I need to come off the medication."

"But the medication's working. You're feeling better."

He smiled. "Mentally, yes. Collapsing regularly isn't worth it as a trade though."

I was instantly alarmed. "Regularly? This has happened before?"

"No, of course not. I've been having dizzy spells though, and some of them have been quite bad. Wait a minute!" He sat up and looked animated suddenly. I briefly worried he would put too much strain on himself and would faint again, but he held up. "I told Mike!"

"Well yes, he's your doctor."

"No! I told Mike about me and you. About us! Hah!" He seemed elated. "I _have_ told someone, so there! So stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Sherlock I-Know-Everything Holmes!"

I felt a sudden rush of an unidentifiable, warm emotion, starting from the top of my head then down throughout my whole body. My chest felt oddly constricted, but not in an unpleasant way. I like John best when he was somehow proving me wrong and with this... the idea that he _wasn't_ ashamed elevated me as much its antithesis had crushed me.

"John, I love you."

I hadn't expected to say it, but it seemed more likely that it was true than it was not, and occasionally the deeper levels of my subconscious got the better of me.

He stared at me for a moment, clearly absorbing this. I got the distinct impression that he wasn't going to tell me to leave again. I was also fairly sure that I wasn't going to do so of my own volition. He looked like he wanted to reach for me and kiss me, but he restrained himself.

"How did he take it?"

John smiled at me. "I think he feared for my mental health."

"Well he is treating you for Depression."

"Yes, but this seemed to be more along the 'Psychotic and deranged' diagnosis."

"Oh. Was it because I'm a man?"

"No, it was just because you're _you._"

"Oh. That's OK then."

John's face slowly fell. "There's still the other thing."

I sighed. "Look, maybe we don't need to get too hung up on the other thing. I could just revert to what I've been doing for the past seven years."

"Pretending you don't want to have sex with me?"

"Yes that. And every now and again, masturbating furiously."

"_Sherlock!"_

He blushed, but he laughed, and again, I felt that thrill that I get when I make him laugh.

"I love you." I told him again.

"I know. You keep saying."

"Well you said it first. Now look, you need to eat. I don't want you fainting again."

"No, it's not low blood sugar, it's low blood pressure. It's a different thing."

"But the two aren't unrelated."

He suddenly sat up again. This time it did make him dizzy and he rested his head on my shoulder for a moment. "Oh, shit, Sherlock, I think I've been incredibly stupid."

"Well it wouldn't..."

"Oh shut up, you've been incredibly stupid too. It was on the notes in the meds which you read too; reduced libido. It's entirely possible that this... thing... is a side effect."

"Oh." I thought about this for a moment and felt a bubble of hope rise in me. "How? _How?"_

"Brains. They're complicated and stuff."

"Good. Good analysis coming from a doctor." We both sat there for a moment, smiling slightly, as if this might to be an answer to all our problems. On the other hand... "There's a chance that it's not a side effect though, isn't there."

He nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, Sherlock, we do need to accept the fact that it might just be because..."

"You're getting older and erectile dysfunction is getting more and more..."

He blushed again, "_Sherlock!_ No! Just... no."

I grinned. It would appear that I liked the 'make John blush' game as much as I liked 'make John laugh'. It would be painful indeed if I had to give him up entirely.

"But it might be that you'll never be sexually stimulated by a man."

"Yes. Though if it's any consolation at all, I suspect that I'm more likely to be stimulated by you than any other man. That's why I didn't say. I kept assuming it would just happen someday."

I thought about this for a while. "Well, I'm not going to stop being a man any time soon, and we won't know if this is a relevant factor until you come off the medication, so it might well happen someday. In the meantime, I suggest we get out of these ridiculous clothes and into something more comfortable, and before you smirk like that, I meant pyjamas, and we eat the food that you've cooked, and please, please for the love of God can we put some half way decent music on?"

oOo

I changed in the bedroom, leaving him with some privacy in the living room. I noted that I somehow selected his grey marle pyjamas and I realised I wasn't quite ready to stop playing my game yet.

We sat next to each other on the sofa to eat. The meal was mostly cold by now, and I found my appetite was gone, but John was doing his utmost to eat, so I felt it was only fair to make an effort too.

He did seem to feel slightly better, emotionally at any rate. His conversation was less strained than it had been earlier in the evening, and he seemed relieved. He had lost interest in trying to woo me too. He was happy to treat me as Sherlock. The one that he knew. The one he apparently loved, and I found as the evening drew on, I was feeling more and more uncomfortable.

It didn't make any sense to me. I knew that many successful relationships existed despite the fact that one or the other of the partners was keeping a secret. And I could even argue that I wasn't keeping anything _secret. _John knew all of the individual pieces. He'd even raised one this evening; I was indeed being on my best behaviour. Arguably, it was not my responsibility to explain to him how all of it fitted together.

The problem was that part of me suddenly felt that I was being unfair. I hadn't thought so until my subconscious had told me I loved him. Part of me was querying that.

If I loved him, if I actually _loved_ him, would I be prepared to take advantage of him in this way? I suspected not.

"Sherlock, your peas are about to roll off your plate and across the floor."

I looked down and he was right. I stared at my plate for a while.

"Sherlock? Are you OK? Sherlock, look at me."

I did.

"Sherlock, I really am very, very sorry. I really am."

"No, John! It isn't you. It isn't your fault."

He frowned, then gently took my plate from me and put it on the floor. "Tell me what it is you're thinking. Sorry, I can't do that mind-reading thing. You'll have to actually tell me."

I took a deep breath. I wished he could do the mind-reading thing.

"John, I feel I should tell you I've been taking advantage of you." He frowned, but I decided I had to keep going. "Not you, specifically, but your condition. When I came here on Christmas Eve, it was because I was concerned about you, nothing more than that. By Christmas Day, I'd realised that you weren't in any state to defend yourself from me. From my advances. I decided to stay around as long as you were ill, and then, by the time you were better, I had hoped that I'd be able to make you fall in love with me."

He was staring at me open mouthed. There was a look in his eye that suggested he was entertained by this idea. I assumed he had misunderstood me.

"John, I would never be able to make you fall in love with me if you were well. Hell, I've tried and you didn't even notice. If you weren't... weakened, mentally... I would never have dreamed of trying. I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. I gave him a moment to consider this. Finally he opened his eyes again and shook his head.

"So, you're under the impression that I'm so addled I won't notice when someone pretty much moves into my flat and turns me gay."

I blushed. "When you say it that way, it sounds more of an insult than I perhaps..."

"Sherlock! For heaven's sake! You think you took advantage of me? Seriously... seriously? _Seriously?_"

I found I was getting annoyed. It felt as though he was mocking me.

"Is something going to follow 'seriously'?"

"Sherlock, no. I mean, I can understand how you thought that that might be the wrong thing to do but... Look, in these specific circumstances, you're in a position where you have had an interest for seven years, which is mind-blowing in itself, and the ongoing circumstances made it difficult or inappropriate to pursue that interest. You waited until the circumstances were right, and until an opportunity presented itself. I don't know anyone who wouldn't have acted the same way. Guess what, Sherlock; it turns out you're human."

"Don't!"

"What?"

"Don't make fun of me. I'm trying here. I feel guilty about it, as if I had deliberately found a mismatched opponent to go into the ring with because I just want to win without trying. It feels wrong."

He laughed. He actually laughed at me.

"Well, it's nice to know that you consider my emotional ability so highly!"

"Not emotional; mental. Obviously you surpass me emotionally. Mentally I surpass you."

He laughed again. I found I didn't find his laughter as pleasing as I usually did.

"Sherlock, you've always surpassed me mentally. Now, well 'then' anyway, probably a little more than at other times, but it's not something that's news to me. That was why I was so worried that this was all an experiment."

Despite my bragging about my higher mental powers, I found I was becoming more confused by this conversation.

"Experiment?"

"Yes, I briefly wondered whether you were conducting some kind of experiment based on relationships of some sort and I was your guinea pig."

"John! I'd never do something like that! I never would!" I was shocked at the thought.

"Sorry, Sherlock. It just seems the sort of thing you would do. In the past, anyway, not now you're being the model houseguest."

"Well perhaps to other people, but not to _you_ John! Surely you knew that!"

"No, I was generally just confused. It's my inadequate brain, you see. You were just acting unusually and I was trying to make sense of it. The 'trying to make me fall in love with you' thing actually makes much more sense really. Well, sort of. A part of me still thinks you're mostly married to your work."

I was feeling calmer now. John knew, and he had forgiven me.

"Well I do _love_ my work," I admitted.

"I know that you do."

"But I love you too."

"I know."

John swung his legs up onto the sofa and I sat forward so that he could get his feet behind me, then I turned and mirrored his position at the other end.

"So what do you propose we do?" he asked me.

I shut my eyes and considered this in the way I might when trying to unravel a mystery.

"Well, as far as I see it, we have three individual problems. The first of which is that you are concerned with my current, good behaviour and you don't feel I can sustain it. The second is that we don't know whether you will ever be able to respond to me sexually. The third is that, regardless of how entertaining you find the idea, I feel uncomfortable with the idea of coming to this relationship on an unequal footing."

John's lip jerked, but he appeared to be following. "OK."

"Well the first point is easy; I'll simply go back to being my usual self."

"Well..."

"What?"

"Well, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if you... toned down... your usual self a bit. I mean, it would be OK if you wanted to occasionally do the shopping, or clean up once in a while. I'm not hating you getting up in the morning with Scarlet, either."

"So you _would_ like me to change?"

"No, not entirely. I'd like you to be slightly more considerate, but on the whole, no."

"Oh John," I told him seriously, "I'm not sure it works that way. You either get the entire Sherlock, or no Sherlock at all!"

"OK then, no Sherlock at all."

That felt icy down my back. "No! I can change! Probably! A bit!"

He grinned at me. "So how's that 'we're not on equal footing' theory working out for you right now?"

I let that pass.

"The second item troubles me. You do seem much better mentally on this medication. I wouldn't like the idea of you coming off it just to test a theory."

"Well I wouldn't be. And it's not just up to me anyway, I need to talk it over with Mike first, but I suspect his concern about the blood pressure will outweigh most other things. It's fine, Sherlock. We'll try something else."

"I'd forgotten about the blood pressure."

"Yes, well I can see how it's secondary to a lack of sexual urges."

I blushed. I have to admit, the latter did feel like the primary consideration at that moment.

"The problem is, that leaves us with the third item; I don't know that I should be with you when you're ill. I think it's unfair."

"Oddly, it's been when I'm ill that I've wanted you here most."

This gave me pause. "You have more experience of these things than I do, is it sensible to start this sort of relationship when one party wants the other because they can't cope with being alone?"

He looked at me directly in the eyes. "No."

I sighed. "No, I didn't think so. I would have thought that it leaves one party with the option to take advantage of the other one. To manipulate the other into doing what they wanted." He continued looking straight at me, but he didn't interrupt. "Particularly when that person is a sociopath, and is generally well known for manipulating other people to get his own way." Again, he didn't respond to this. "So the most sensible course of action would be for me to leave until such time as you're better. And ideally on a form of medication that doesn't have so many difficult side effects."

"Yes."

"So I should go then."

He smiled at me, but he looked sad. "Yes."

"It is the most sensible course of action."

"Yes."

"OK then."

I got up, walked away, and gathered my clothes from the floor and left.

I stood outside his flat for a few minutes, wondering how I'd managed to talk myself into the position of being on this side of the door.

After a moment, John opened the door and looked at me.

"Sherlock, you're an idiot," he said.

* * *

**Right, next chapter, SEX! And I'll go up a rating for it too, so keep a look out.**

**Once again, thank you for the reviews! Some were anonymous so I couldn't respond directly to you, but just to let you know I appreciate every one of them. Particularly when you comment on something specific which leaves me thinking 'Ooo, I didn't see it that way before!' Love it.**

**Pip.**


	8. Valentine's Day 3

"Sherlock, you look ridiculous," I said to him. He did too. Standing in the hallway in his pyjamas, without even slippers and a dressing gown on, clutching a handful of evening clothes. More than that, he had the ridiculous, mournful expression of a child who knows they've just lost a promised treat because they've done something silly.

"Come back in," I commanded. He followed me. I could hear him dropping his bundle of clothes and walking straight over them. He sat back down on the sofa and pouted.

I smiled at him. This was, oddly, the Sherlock that I loved. The one who acts without running every action through an etiquette guide to be sure it was appropriate.

"It is the most sensible course of action," he told me stubbornly.

"Yes, I'm sure that was why you were stood in the hallway and not in a cab back home. Look, Sherlock, things are clearly complicated enough between the two of us. Let's not make it worse than it needs to be shall we? Can I suggest an alternative?"

He looked over at me. "Please do."

"OK, well, how about you just choose not to manipulate me. Or at least, no more so than usual anyhow. If you think you're doing something that's unusually cruel or self serving to me, don't do it."

"The problem is, I am, in general, a cruel and self serving individual. And you keep telling me you want me to be me."

"Yes but... look, being nice to someone you're in a new relationship with isn't exactly the crime of the century, Sherlock. And I do know you, I do know what you're like and it's not like I've forgotten all of that just because you're being nice now, and yet I still want to give it a shot. It's true that I might not have been quite so... receptive to the idea if I hadn't been quite so... unable to think clearly, but who cares? I'm thinking clearly now and I still don't want you to leave."

He looked across at me, and there was the merest hint of triumph on his face. "So arguably, my plan worked."

"Yes, it would seem that it did. Well done you."

He smiled for a while and basked in his victory.

"Sherlock... the next couple of weeks might be a bit rocky for me. If you did want to stay away until it was over, I'd..."

"Oh for heaven's sake, John!" he interrupted me. "So far every single part of this relationship has been rocky. Yes, it's not easy because you are depressed, but to be honest, when that's solved, I'll still be a sociopath, and that's hardly going to be easy either!"

"You're not a sociopath, Sherlock. I know you well enough to know that you don't really have the main symptoms of that. You just wish you were, because it would be convenient. You are, in fact, a git."

He frowned at me.

"If you were an actual sociopath, being a git wouldn't bother you."

"It doesn't," he said quickly.

"Look, you prefer the nice, tidy, medical sounding label that you can trot out to people as an excuse, but you are quite capable of empathy, you are quite capable of love and a wealth of other complex emotions, you are quite capable of being social, and you are quite capable of remorse and guilt. You're not overly aggressive beyond the usual levels of violence for someone of your age and sex. You can turn all of those things off if it suits your needs to do so, and that is slightly unusual, but a true sociopath wouldn't be able to switch them on and off at will. In fact, the only symptom you ever really show is that you don't particularly care if someone else is suffering as long as you are happy, but that's not because you're a sociopath, it's because you're a bit of a spoiled brat, and ever so slightly emotionally inept."

He tensed up at that one, and I wondered if I'd gone slightly too far. "Look, Sherlock, it suits me. If you were truly sociopathic, you wouldn't be interested in having a relationship with anyone. So perhaps the fact that you're not could be seen as a good thing. Generally, it is considered better not to have a personality disorder or any other kind of mental health problem."

"Well I'm hardly normal, am I!" It was almost a wail, and I had a moment of guilt that I'd raised this subject. Particularly as it was accidental; it was late and I was tired and I wasn't self censoring either.

"You're _you_," I told him, rubbing his arm. "You don't have to be anyone else."

"No-body else thinks so."

"How many other people are you looking to impress?"

He didn't seem to have an answer for that.

"Sorry, Sherlock, it's late, I'm tired and this conversation is beginning to get very strange. Well, stranger. If you're happy with the 'let's not make things complicated' plan, why don't you come to bed."

He rubbed his head, but nodded. "I'll be in in a minute."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. It was uncalled for to start on you that way."

He shrugged. "Nanny Susan called me a spoiled brat. It took less than a month for me to persuade Mummy that she wasn't fit to take care of me."

"Come to bed, Sherlock."

"OK."

He did follow me in, and he was happy to snuggle close to my back, as he usually did, his nose against the back of my neck. His arm, as it usually did, crept across me and I stroked it with my hand and nestled into him.

"Your feet are cold," he murmured.

"Yes, that's why I'm warming them on yours," I told him.

"Fair 'nuff."

And then we were both asleep.

Five and a half hours later, Scarlet woke both of us with shouts of "Is it my birthday yet?" from her cot.

oOo

The next few weeks passed more or less in a blur. Sherlock continued to linger around the flat, but he seemed more willing to admit defeat after harder days, and retreat to spend some time surrounded by his own possessions and in his own space. He was less well mannered too, more content to sit on the sofa in pyjamas and dressing gown, allegedly 'looking after Scarlet' while I tidied, cooked, cleaned.

I wondered if he was testing my resolve on the 'be yourself' suggestion.

However, as the medication slowly left my system I found myself in trouble again, and on one memorable occasion, I shouted so aggressively at Scarlet she cried in genuine fear. Sherlock took her away for the day, entertained her at the baker street, and then brought her back at bedtime when he was satisfied that the Ogre had left the building. I had a feeling that my gratitude for that would last for quite some time.

I could tell he was nervous of my new medication. He asked to see the notes immediately, and watched carefully where I kept them. After a while he asked if he could take care of them for me, so he could give me my required dose each evening, but we agreed that this would be impractical. I told him he would have to trust me. He looked unwilling, but could see no other alternative.

I genuinely don't remember anything about the next two weeks. Sherlock told me it was dull and sleepy, but with nothing else to speak of. I accepted his word on this.

Again, my head started clearing and I started to feel better. I felt different than I had on the previous meds, slower and mellower. On the other hand, my appetite returned with ferocity and I wasn't dizzy any more. They did appear to be doing helping though, and slowly Sherlock and I relaxed about them.

I could tell that Sherlock was looking out for signs that my sex drive was returning to normal, but he didn't comment outwardly or push me. We continued to be close, some of the time certainly, and we would kiss and scratch and play on the sofa, but we continued to sleep chastely, in our pyjamas.

I was looking for signs too, and every now and again I would become despondent about the lack of activity. The one thing that cheered me was the fact that I knew that at that moment, no-one and nothing was moving me that way at all.

Sherlock didn't know that though, and I couldn't blame him for his sudden morose moods about it.

He disappeared off for a couple of days again, telling me he had a case. He wasn't quite as aloof as he had been on previous cases though, and he did at least send me texts, and once even called, though as far as I could tell, he wanted complete silence from me. Although I might object to being called so that I could be ignored, I found it strangely touching that Sherlock wanted my presence in such a way.

Finally, he texted to say he'd finished, and that he'd be back within the hour, and that if I had any food, he would be appreciative of a meal. I had a slight buzz of excitement that he was coming back to the flat. I also found myself musing on exactly how appreciative he would be and how that appreciation would be expressed. This was odd, as I know that if I was lucky I'd get a grunt that sounded like it could mean 'thank you'.

He did indeed stalk into the flat, just over an hour later, and I fed him up. Scarlet and I ate too, Scarlet chattering about something I couldn't keep up with. I found I was hopelessly distracted.

It felt as though there was something physically in the room with us, and I couldn't work out what it was. I surreptitiously checked the notes on the meds to see if any form of sensory hallucination might be a side effect. If anyone else had experienced similar, it hadn't been recorded.

Later in the afternoon I came close to isolating it.

"No, there is a funny smell in here!" I insisted. "What is that smell?"

Sherlock sniffed and frowned. "I can't smell anything."

"Really? Because whatever it is, it's getting stronger."

He concentrated. "No, I really can't smell anything. Sorry."

He got up and headed into the kitchen and the smell intensified as he wafted past. It wasn't unpleasant; it wasn't anything that I could describe. I could smell his usual combination of deodorant and various products and there wasn't anything particularly different. But there was suddenly a very clear 'Sherlock' smell.

I decided not to comment.

"I need something cold to drink," he called from the kitchen. I could see him standing in front of the open fridge, one long arm draped over the door, lounging, resting on one leg. He was wearing his black jeans and aubergine shirt. He had nothing on his feet and I was overcome with an urge to go and eat them.

"Have some milk," I called to him. "It's good for your bones." And your arse, I added mentally, then wondered where on Earth that thought had come from.

Scarlet had been saying something that I hadn't heard.

"Sorry, sweetheart?"

"Can I have milk too?"

"Why would you want milk?" I asked her, genuinely puzzled for a moment.

"I'll get it," Sherlock called and he came into the room with a glass for him and a sippy cup for her.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he asked as he sat back down.

"Nothing!" I snapped, and I was fairly sure I was blushing. But there was. Not wrong, as such, but a deep, aching feeling low down in my abdomen. Something I hadn't felt for quite some time. I shifted slightly.

Sherlock looked at me with a frown, and then ignored me for the rest of the day, occasionally making barbed comments to Scarlet that they were clearly the only sensible people in the flat. Eventually he asked me if he could bath Scarlet and put her to bed.

"What? Why? Do what?"

"Scarlet," he whispered dramatically, "I think your Daddy's gone mad!"

She giggled.

"Sorry, yes, of course. Bedtime, Scarlet." I went into the bathroom to start running her bath and I splashed some cold water onto my face. I then wandered into the bedroom to lie down for a bit. What seemed like only a few seconds later I could hear Scarlet exclaiming with delight about 'the deepest bath in the world!'

I decided I ought to stay where I was.

I listened to Scarlet tell Sherlock a story in which she was, I think, a sea princess and he was, I think, some kind of pirate monster. I heard him carry her through to her bedroom, assuring her that he was not a monster of any kind, and that there were no monsters of any kind in the flat. Eventually he persuaded her to lie down and he sang to her gently. I had not the slightest clue what it was that he was singing, but it was something soothing and he'd sung it to her several times before.

Tonight I found it... stirring.

Eventually he walked came and stood in my bedroom door, and leaned.

"John, are you OK? Is this new medication perhaps... making you slightly... insane?"

I sat up and looked at him.

I suddenly leapt up and walked towards him. I pushed him into the wall opposite and started kissing him savagely, sucking greedily at his lips and tongue.

I think if my needs had been slightly less urgent, I might have been amused by the look of complete surprise on his face, but I really wasn't paying attention at the time.

Sherlock responded to me almost immediately, holding onto my head with both hands.

The smell of him was overpowering and I kept trying to taste it, but I couldn't seem to get close enough to him, despite being right up against him with my tongue in his mouth. I licked and licked him. My hands gripped his shirt.

I suddenly calmed slightly and I pulled away.

"Sorry, what were you..."

Sherlock stared at my blankly, then pushed me backwards, I think he'd been aiming for my bedroom door but I ended up against the opposite wall of the hallway, in between Scarlet's room and my own.

"Oh God, Sherlock..."

He kissed me back, harshly on the mouth. It was a second before I responded, but when I did, I was greedy and desperate once more. I started nibbling at him along his jaw, feeling the texture of his beard against my tongue. I was fascinated by it.

I worked my way downwards over his neck where the taste and smell seemed stronger and I sucked and bit. I felt no need to check myself for fear of hurting him.

I started undoing his shirt buttons. In response he slipped his hands under my t-shirt and rubbed and scratched my back and my sides. It was soothing but I still couldn't get my damned hands to work correctly and I ended up just pulling and tugging. At least one of his buttons flew off, never to be seen again. I pulled the shirt out of his trousers, and while I was there, I unbuttoned him and then turned my full attention to his chest, kissing and sucking. I was barely paying attention to signals from him at all, but he certainly didn't indicate that I should stop. He let me continue, standing there virtually motionless, just holding my sides with his hands, and pushing against me.

I worked my way back up over his shoulder, and back up his neck to nose through his hair. I found the spot I needed in the thin skin behind his ear and I foraged there greedily. I licked his earlobe into my mouth and sucked on it hard.

He moaned, deep and low. And loud. We both froze, simultaneously realising that we were just outside Scarlet's door. There was silence and very faintly the slow, snuffling breaths of a sleeping child.

"In here," I ordered, pulling him into my room.

He grunted in agreement and shut the door behind him. He stood there, his shirt still on, but hanging off one shoulder. He'd lost a sock at some point and I was bewildered as to when that might have happened.

Suddenly a rush of questions flooded into me. I had no idea what I was expected to do in this particular situation. I didn't know whether there were any condoms in the flat, or any lube, or whether we'd need either, or whether it was even appropriate to ask, and I wanted to somehow ask how this was all expected to work.

The only sound I could manage was "Um."

"John, are you sure?" he asked in a half whisper. His body was quivering visibly, and I was on him in a second, trying to pull him free from his shirt. The cuffs got caught and with a yell of frustration he stood on it and yanked his hands free. He pulled my t-shirt off and pushed me onto the bed.

He pulled my socks off, then leapt onto me, straddling me and he explored my chest in the way I had with his in the hallway. I in turn scratched his back, but he didn't respond in the same way that I usually did. I slipped my fingers down into his trousers, scratching from his buttocks upwards and then he groaned again and thrust himself into me. I grinned, feeling a strange sense of power.

He rested his head on my collarbone for a second and breathed into my neck to calm himself. Then he was up again, and in a movement I couldn't quite work out, he unbuttoned me completely and removed my trousers and my shorts in one quick, vigorous pull. I was mildly shocked, even though logically, nakedness was bound to occur at some point.

He must have seen something in my face because he stopped and looked at me for a moment.

"Do you want to stop?"

"Um."

"Oh good."

He efficiently stripped himself and was climbed back on me, kissing me again, full on the mouth while rubbing at my shoulders and neck, and pressing himself against me.

I was aware that things were becoming increasingly urgent with me, and once again, I wasn't entirely sure how to progress. Sherlock, however, was as confident and assertive as usual, and he calmly moved one hand down and wrapped it around me. Again, I was startled, but I relaxed and allowed myself to concentrate on the sensation while holding his lip in my mouth. He moved away and I opened my eyes to look at him, but his eyes were closed and his face was locked in concentration.

I felt him run his fingernail over my tip and I groaned and tried to keep my composure but it was no good. He grasped me again and straight away I exploded everywhere.

Sherlock opened his eyes and grinned at me. There was a slightly smug expression on his face. Actually, that's inaccurate. There was an _extremely _smug expression on his face and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to show this man that I was not completely incapable.

I rolled him off me and we both lay on our sides, I continued kissing his neck and ears and I moved one hand down to stroke the line that runs between his balls.

He jerked and yelped and I grinned. I quickly kissed downwards over his chest and breathed into the hair on his belly.

"Holy shit, John!" he murmured above me and I was satisfied that I had surprised him.

I took him into my mouth and he gasped and thrashed slightly. He appeared to control himself and I could hear him making the sounds of a man desperately trying to prolong his experience.

I kissed, licked and sucked him for maybe a whole twenty seconds before he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me urgently away. I watched as he came, then gently and firmly held him while he throbbed. He moaned again and I finally moved away and lay next to him, flat on my back.

Again, I wondered what the etiquette was for this. Would he require conversation and further cuddling and stroking, or would he, like me, be content to just go to sleep. It occurred to me that we both needed to clean up, but there were no tissues in my room and the bathroom seemed unnecessarily far away.

He turned and nuzzled his head against me, but then lay still. I was just drifting off when he poked me hard in the ribs.

"Don't go to sleep, John."

"Mm."

"Come on, get up."

"Mm! Why?"

"It's eight thirty. I'm hungry, are you hungry?"

"We just ate! Go to sleep!"

He launched himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom, quickly returning to throw a roll of toilet paper at me.

"Come on, John!"

"Sod off."

I felt him sit down on the bed.

"Damn it, this is completely ruined."

I opened one bleary eye to see what he was talking about. He was holding his shirt mournfully in his hands, inspecting it carefully.

"Sherlock, give me... half an hour and I might be able to get up. Get myself up. Get myself out of bed."

"Don't be silly, John. You just need to refuel."

"Sod off."

"Come on. A good protein based meal, a couple of hours to recuperate, and we'll be good to go again by midnight."

I watched him leave the room wondering if I had in fact bitten off a touch more than I could chew.


	9. Toys

**From the following prompts;**

**Eyebrows2 "I know it's shallow... but perhaps a little more of the same? Please?**

**A Benediction "More, more, please!"**

**Cacodeamonia "I can't wait for more!"**

**Er, OK then you smut-tastic lovelies. **

**So yes, warnings for Filth and Rudies.**

**Next chapter is a nice and clean marriage proposal, so come back for that even if this one is a bit much for you.**

**

* * *

**_A couple of weeks after Valentine's day 3._

I buzzed Mike into the building and opened the internal front door for him. He waved an A4 envelope at me as the lift doors opened.

"Here you are, John! Hot off the presses! Well, hot off the printers in the Personnel office anyway."

I smiled and took it.

"Thanks for bringing this round! Come in for a tea?"

"Oh yes, lovely."

He followed me into the flat and stopped to say hello to Scarlet who decided to put on her 'shy' routine and hide behind my legs.

I tore open the envelope while waiting for the kettle to boil.

"God it's been a long time since I filled in one of these. Blimey, this runs to twelve pages!"

"Well, at Bart's we like to know we've got the best."

"And yet they hired you?"

"Ha ha!"

We sat down at the table with our tea and I studied the form some more.

"'Outline previous teaching experience.' Damn, that one might have sunk me."

"Nah, no-one's got teaching experience until they start teaching. Honestly, it's like falling off a log."

"Really?"

"No, not really. But there must be something that you've done that qualifies."

I though back. "I ran a couple of courses for field-medics way back. And I mentored some newer recruits too. In fact one of them will probably write me a reference if I ask; he's a Major now."

He smiled at me. "Well, there you go then. What's the worst that could happen anyway? They could say no and hire someone else. The world keeps turning, John."

"I know."

He looked at me a while. "How have things been?"

"Good! Really good. I really I'm doing much better, thank you. Really, thank you for everything."

He smiled again. "You do look a lot better anyway. It would be nice to see you out more often though. We should go out to dinner at some point, Me, Jane, you and Sherlock. We could sleep Scarlet in the girls' room and go halves on the babysitter."

"Oh, did she say 'yes' by the way?"

"She did, and she's saving for her wedding so desperate for work. I'll give you her number; she's good."

We were interrupted by the front door opening and the sound of Sherlock calling excitedly from the hall.

"John! John! I've bought us some toys!" he bounded into the room like a six foot puppy, holding a plain white carrier bag aloft.

His eyes rested on Mike who was hiding in his tea. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly and he stood still.

"Toys!" Scarlet said, running up to him, "can I play too?"

Sherlock held the bag out of her reach and looked at her blankly. "Er... no." He looked back over to Mike and me. "I'll be right back," he told us and he marched from the room, with Scarlet hot on his heels.

I looked over at Mike who was quietly chuckling. "He hasn't changed nearly as much as you might expect," I told him.

"No, so I can see! Does he still have his riding crop?"

My eyebrows shot up. "I'm not sure that's an appropriate question right now, Mike."

"Yes, I regretted asking immediately."

Scarlet barrelled into the room again. "Daaaaddyyyy! Sherlock won't share!" She leapt into my arms and fake-sobbed onto my shoulder. Sherlock followed her in and stood there, looking spare.

"Well maybe you can find some of your own toys to share with Sherlock?" I suggested to Scarlet.

"No, I don't like Sherlock anymore!"

I sniggered, as did Mike.

Sherlock appeared to decide he ought to try to be civilised and came over to join us.

"Is there any tea for me?" he asked.

"You know where the kettle is," I told him. He ignored me.

"Mike, how are you?"

"Fine, thank you, Sherlock."

"Good, and how is..." he looked at me desperately, but I just shrugged at him. "How is your wife?"

"Jane is fine, thank you."

"Good. And... and your child?"

"All four of my children are very well, thanks for asking."

"Four! Wow." Sherlock glanced over and seemed to feel that remark may not have hit the right mark. "I mean, that's... that's a fine brood. Well done."

Mike grinned at me. "Right, I'd better leave you to it, John. Let me know if you want to run anything by me."

"I will, thanks again Mike." I got up to see him out. Scarlet refused to be left so I carried her with me. I suspected she put her tongue out at Sherlock on the way past.

"I'll get in touch regarding going out for dinner."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. I need a good laugh sometimes!"

"See you later, Mike."

I went back to the kitchen to find Sherlock rooting around the cupboards.

"I thought I'd cook today. Y'know, give you a bit of a break... how does pasta sound."

"Fine. That sounds lovely, Sherlock."

"Good. Remind me of the basic principles of this dish would you?"

"I have a better idea. I'll cook; you find some way of making friends with Scarlet."

He did. He used his usual tactic which was to gang up with her to pick on me while I cooked for them both. I believe he also promised her that he would take her on a shopping trip to Hamley's to buy her a toy of her very own. Either way, she insisted that only he would do for her bath and bedtime song.

He came back in when she was asleep and watched me finishing cleaning in the kitchen.

"I knew she was able to pronounce 'Sherlock'," he told me.

"Yes, that's definitely the part of the conversation I'm focussing on right now."

He looked slightly shamed faced. "I didn't know that there would be company here when I came in!"

"No, but you knew that there would be a two year old!"

"It's not like she knows what I was talking about. Anyway, do you want to see what I got?"

I found I was getting cross with him. "No actually, Sherlock, I don't."

I stomped past him into the living room and started flicking through channels, not really concentrating on what was showing on any of them.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, following me.

"Nothing!"

"Yes, _clearly_ there's nothing wrong with you. Is this because I embarrassed you in front of Mike?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Really. It's just... Look, Sherlock, since our initial, er, _moment _a week ago..."

"Ten days."

I frowned. It didn't seem as long as that. "Really?"

"Really. Anyway, go on, you were telling me something."

"OK, well since then, I feel like I've barely stopped to breathe. And you, every time you're here, all you're interested in is mauling me. As soon as Scarlet goes to bed you seem to see this as a signal that you should instantly start ripping my clothes off and I'll instantly be ready and able to fool around with you."

"No, I've clearly made adjustments to take account of your lower stamina."

This gave me pause. "It's not that much lower than yours."

He gave me a look. "No, of course not."

I shook my head. "Look, either way, that's not quite the point. If you're serious about this relationship, then it needs to be about more than just sex."

"What?" He looked genuinely shocked. "John, that's completely... that's just... it's _not fair!"_ He pouted and stropped.

I smiled slightly and thought about my 'spoiled brat' comment of last week. "Sherlock..."

"No, John, it's really not! I've had seven years of our relationship not being about the sex, and after that five months of virtually living with you which was also not about sex. Now I feel it ought to be the time for sex. What if for some reason in the future we go back to not being able to have sex again? We'll have completely wasted the possible sex time."

"OK, and what possible calamity might happen that will mean the sex suddenly has to stop?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you get castrated."

I laughed. "Why am I the one being castrated?"

"Well clearly I'm not the one being castrated," he said, witheringly. There was a glint in his eye though. "I am sorry, John, it's just that I'm not used to being in a situation where there's such easy access to sex. I find I'm enjoying it. It's... nice."

I smiled. "OK then. Well, it's fine. I'm just saying, calm down. Sometimes it would be nice to use Non-Scarlet time to talk or do something else that people do in relationships. It doesn't have to be 'Scarlet, sex, sleep' in and endless round. Oh, that reminds me, Mike and Jane want to go for dinner with me and you."

He grimaced. "Really? Why?"

"I have no idea. I think they must like me." I frowned suddenly, imagining how this evening could go. "Or hate me."

"OK, so what do you want to talk about?"

I thought about it while I turned round on the sofa and put my feet on his lap. "I don't know."

He gave a dramatic sigh. "So I guess _I'll_ have to think of something. OK, why the hell do you want to get a job? The flat got paid off when Mary died and you could survive on your pension now."

"I know. I just fancy going to work again. Scarlet could do with socialising with her peers," Sherlock pulled a face at this, "and she'll be in school in a couple of years. I don't much fancy a life of sitting in the flat waiting for her to come home."

"If you _didn't_ get a job, you could come on cases with me again. That would be much better than _teaching._"

I wasn't quite sure how he managed to get quite so much distain into the word 'teaching'.

"I can't come on cases with you, Sherlock. You work antisocial hours. It would look great at a crime scene if I suddenly had to dash off to pick up my pre-schooler."

"Mm. But still, _teaching._"

I sighed. "OK, let's not talk about this anymore shall we? Tell me about the case. The one you finished today."

He grinned and pulled something from his pocket. "He was wearing one of these!" and he dropped the object into my hand.

"A cock-ring?"

Sherlock's face fell slightly. "You've seen one of these before?"

"Of course I have! I did two rotations in A and E, I've seen pretty much anything that can be worn on, or be inserted into a person. I had to cut one of these off once." Sherlock's face paled. "I cut the _ring_, Sherlock, not the cock."

"Obviously."

A thought occurred to me. "Sherlock, this isn't the one from the corpse is it?"

"No, I picked that up this afternoon. It's new."

"Good."

"Sherlock, when you said before that you weren't used to having easy access to sex..." I wasn't sure how to continue this train of thought.

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

"It's just, you seem experienced," I explained. "It surprises me that you haven't had a relationship before."

"Really? You have met me haven't you? Someone would have to be extremely foolish to consider being in an actual relationship with me."

I brushed the insult aside. "But you've had sex before."

"Yes."

"Have you ever had sex with a woman?"

"Yes. Three different women. No, wait, four."

"Wow, number four must have been memorable."

"It was number three I forgot actually. It was for a case so it hardly counts."

I was shocked, which is odd seeing as I know what Sherlock's like on a case. "You traded sex for information?"

He frowned at me. "No, John, the sex _was_ the information."

I frowned but decided I didn't really want to know. "But the other three were girlfriends?"

"Girlfriends? No. Two were prostitutes, and one was my cousin's friend at my Aunt's wedding."

"Prostitutes?"

"Yes." He glanced over to me. "You don't need to worry, John. I'm perfectly clean. Mycroft had me tested when I was detoxing."

This was suddenly a lot more information than I felt I wanted suddenly. Yet part of me wanted to go on asking questions.

"Have you had more sex with men though, than with women?"

"Yes."

"More prostitutes?"

"Some yes. Some were people in clubs. A couple were people I wanted to... I hoped they might like me eventually."

I sat back to take all of this in. It struck me that we were more evenly matched than I'd thought. Sherlock had always been more aware of, and laid back about, his own sexuality. He was clearly prepared and able to gently and considerately lead me in our own sexual practises. On the other hand, his sexual history seemed unbearably sad.

I liked sex as much as the next man, but I was fairly sure that I had never had sex with anyone I wasn't in love with. Or at least someone that I felt I might be in love with one day. I'd certainly been prepared, and in fact eager, to wake up next to them in the morning.

"You're pulling that face that you pull when you're feeling sorry for me. You shouldn't. It was just sex. I had urges and I found ways of sating them."

"Mm." It still didn't seem right to me, the way he could so casually compare having sex to eating a meal.

I looked up and he was watching me and smiling. "Do you have more questions for me?"

"One occurs. The sex you've had with men, was it ever full anal sex?" This was something we hadn't yet tried. I didn't know if he didn't want to, or was as nervous as I was, or whether he was just being patient.

"Yes." He smiled slowly, and I was suddenly incredibly turned on. Foolish as it might be, I wanted him to have with me no less than he'd had with anyone else.

"Oh."

"Go on..."

"Were you... giving or receiving?"

"Both." He frowned. "Well, not at the same time obviously."

I giggled. "Well no, even your powers couldn't run to that."

He grinned again and I moved my feet and shuffled up to him for a kiss.

"No no, John. We were going to _chat_ this evening."

"Shut up," I murmured and kissed him again.

"I don't want to overwhelm you, John," he said while giggling into my teeth.

I stroked him behind his ear with one hand and ran the other one into the hair at the nape of his neck. He tried to resist but I continued gently licking his lower lip until he gave in and grabbed my hips and pulled me on to him. I straddled him and continued kissing. The sofa wasn't quite deep enough for the two of us to sit comfortably like this and there was the sudden sound of a twanging spring.

"Was that you Old Man?" Sherlock asked and I giggled again.

"I'm going to the bedroom. You can either come with me, or not."

"Why? Do you need a hand?"

"Actually I was thinking of something else."

He was on his feet in a second.

I leapt straight onto the bed and he followed me. We kissed and stroked and played for a while.

"Do you want to show me your toys?" I asked him.

"No, we don't need them."

"Will you... Sherlock, I want to have sex with you. Proper sex."

"I know."

He kissed me some more and we stripped each other. I was suddenly nervous again. Obviously I knew the basic idea, but I had done way back when I was a virgin at sixteen, and it didn't make the practical experience any less intimidating.

"Sherlock..."

"It's OK," he said softly, kissing my shoulder. "Which do you think you would prefer, being on the inside or the outside?"

I thought about this. Logic suggested that it would be more natural for me to go inside of him, but my nervousness stopped me. I wanted someone to show me the way. "Outside."

"OK. Would you prefer to be facing me?"

I thought about that and frowned. There was a brief moment where I had no idea how that could possibly work. He read my mind.

"It might be more comfortable for you to be facing away. Physically I mean."

"OK."

Feeling as though this might be an instruction I turned around slowly and knelt, holding on to the headboard. Sherlock calmly positioned me slightly, separating my legs slightly and moving some pillows aside. He took the opportunity to trace his fingers up my thighs and I shivered. He rubbed up my back and followed this with small kisses, all the way up, over my scar and to my neck. I could feel him hard against me now, but he continued to soothe me and I settled down.

I was ridiculously excited.

He didn't ask me if I was sure, and I was grateful that he trusted me to tell him if it became too much.

I could hear him rummage in his overnight bag for something.

There was suddenly a new sensation and I clenched and pulled away.

"What the hell was _that?_"

"Fingers and lubrication gel."

"Oh." Now he said it, it was obvious. I calmed down again and he kissed my back again. I felt his fingers a few more times as he prepared me.

There was the unmistakable sound of a condom being opened and the smell of latex. I closed my eyes and waited.

With the first touch I snorted.

"What? What is it?" he asked.

"Sorry. Nothing. I'm sorry, I'm just a bit giddy. Keep going. Please."

There was a moment where he seemed to think about this, then he pushed into me slightly and I giggled.

"It's not meant to be funny, John!" he told me, but he didn't sound at all anxious.

"Sorry, no, I'll stop. It's just... it tickles weirdly. Keep going. I'll behave."

He leant forwards to kiss the back of my head and I shuddered. He pushed himself forwards again. He was slow and very careful with me. After a moment, he shifted his weight so that he could wrap his arms around me, and he kissed my ear. I giggled.

"Stop it!" he told me.

"Sorry."

"Actually no, laugh again. It's an interesting sensation."

I giggled at this suggestion and he grunted quietly. He rested his head on mine and slowly reached his hand downwards so that he could hold on to me. I gasped.

"Perhaps one sensation at a time, Sherlock," I suggested, but he was elsewhere by now.

I had a brief panic and almost fought him off, but at that moment he moaned and came.

"Was that it?" I asked, before I could stop myself. He froze for a moment.

"Thanks," he said, but he sounded amused.

"Sorry! I didn't mean that. It's just... I thought it would hurt more."

He huffed. "I should hurt you more for having the audacity to giggle throughout, and then critique my performance."

"Sorry."

I giggled again. He nuzzled my shoulder and chuckled into my neck.

"Are you OK?" he asked me.

"Mm. Fine. Thank you."

He held onto me and squeezed as he pulled out of me.

"Holy mother of fuck!"

"Yeah, I thought you might like that bit."

I breathed hard for a moment. "OK, I need a shower. You need a shower. Let's go and shower."

"Yes. Then we can spend the rest of the evening chatting nicely like an old married couple."

I swiped him round the head then kissed his forehead.

"Come and shower with me," I commanded. "I'll wash your back."


	10. Proposal

_This starts just after Scarlet's third birthday, and finishes in late April of that year._

I let myself into the house at Baker Street and instantly walked into Mrs Hudson. I was about to apologise when she put her finger to her lips and whispered to me.

"He's doing very well!"

She pointed up the stairs and I listened too. Sherlock's voice came drifting down to us.

"No, Scarlet, no! You have to sit there for three minutes and have a think!"

"No! I don't want to!"

"No, stay there! Sit down! You have been naughty, and now you have to sit there and have a think."

I found myself grinning. I had thought it would upset me more to hear someone else disciplining my child, but logically, it had to happen during the times I was not with her, and Sherlock wasn't saying anything that I wouldn't.

I walked quietly up the stairs, and stood watching just out of Scarlet's sight. Sherlock's eyes flickered over to me but I quickly shook my head and gestured that he should continue. He looked back at Scarlet.

"OK, now I'm going to go into the kitchen, and you have to stay there…"

Scarlet glanced back and saw me and in a second she was up and running over to me with her arms outstretched.

"Daddy! Sherlock wouldn't share! He's being mean to me!"

I fought every instinct to restrict myself to just a very small hug, then I gently pushed her away.

"Scarlet, Sherlock has told you to sit on the stair. You need to go and do that now."

She drew breath for a wail.

"No, don't start shouting, Scarlet, you go and sit on the step please."

Bereft of an ally, her face crumpled and she started to properly cry as she went to drop herself, dramatically on the step. I tried to resist both grinning and the urge to go and pick her up and apologise to her. I ducked into the kitchen and Sherlock followed me.

"Maybe I over-reacted," he whispered to me, desperately.

"What did she do?" I whispered back.

"We had a brief disagreement over the violin again. Maybe I should by her one of her own."

"No, she has to learn to respect your prop…" I glanced down and noticed an ugly red mark on his wrist. I grabbed it and examined it. "Jesus, Sherlock, she's left teeth-marks!"

"It's fine, it's nothing."

"It's not bloody nothing! She isn't allowed to go around biting people when she doesn't get her own way!"

"It's not as bad as it looks!"

"Really? Because it looks like and angry and stroppy three-year-old bit you hard on the arm. She's very lucky you were here to deal with it and not me!"

"Why? What would you have done?"

That made me pause. I didn't have any form of punishment beyond 'four minutes on the thinking step' and she'd never needed me to escalate from that. I certainly couldn't imagine spanking her, and I suspect Sherlock knew that.

"Straight to bed," I said, decisively. He shrugged.

"I could have let her have the violin."

"Yes, and by now it would be matchsticks and you know it."

I sat down, suddenly tired and cross. I found I was dispirited by this act. We'd moved into Baker Street five months before, and since then, Scarlet's behaviour had been on a distinctly downward trend. I knew that some of it would be that she was testing boundaries in this new environment, and that it would take her a while to settle into a new routine, but that should all have been over by now.

She was as good as gold for Mrs Hudson. She was a model of excellent behaviour and it made me immensely proud. For Sherlock, however, she was a handful. She'd previously reserved her worst behaviour for me and I was more or less happy with that. It was just a part of parenting. Sherlock had always been her best friend and special ally. He'd been an important part of her life for as long as she'd been alive, and it showed. Even when he'd virtually moved into our flat, he was the one she wanted to sit next to at the table, or be carried by in the street, or have her sing her a goodnight song. Though that last one might just be a reflection on my singing ability and choice of song.

But they got on well. She was so comfortable and happy with him that I had finally agreed that she would be able to deal with the disruption, and she and I had moved back in to Baker Street.

Unfortunately, since then, she'd turned into a wild beast with him and all the worst behaviour from her toddler years was making a reappearance. She slapped him regularly, kicked him on occasion, and refused to listen to his directives unless they were channelled via me. She was no longer interested in him reading to her, or singing at bedtime. Instead she clung to me. This was the first time I'd known her to bite him, but it depressed me no end.

We'd tried a couple of things. I'd slept several nights in her room. I'd agreed to all her requests for 'Daddy' to show her I wasn't disappearing from her life and that she still had choices, and the relationship between she and I hadn't changed. We'd taken several 'days off', where she and I went out and did something fun together, just the two of us. None of these things seemed to make a difference to how she was with Sherlock.

"Has it been three minutes yet?" Sherlock asked me quietly.

I checked on my watch. "No, it's barely been thirty seconds."

"Well she seems very sorry."

"No, she seems pissed off because she's been told off. It's not the same thing."

He came to stand behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, rubbing them for a time. I turned and kissed his arm, then pulled him to sit down next to me so I could check the wound. It was ugly and bruised, but she hadn't broken the skin. There were, however, several scratch marks to go along with the bite.

I got up to grab the first aid box.

"It doesn't need that much fuss," Sherlock told me. I ignored him and rubbed an antiseptic cream over the mark. I wrapped a linen bandage around the area too. It was completely unnecessary, but I liked taking care of Sherlock. I also felt horribly guilty about the fact that my daughter had injured him.

The most difficult thing was that I was going to have to accept the fact that if this relationship wasn't going to work for Scarlet, it wasn't going to work for me either, and that felt horribly unfair. But she was a three-year-old child who clearly needed something that I wasn't providing and that needed to come first.

I tied off the bandage. "There. Right, that's three minutes, you should go and talk to her."

"Me? You're home now, surely you'll do it?"

"No, you put her there, you have to get her back."

"But I only put her there because I knew you would have done. I'd have preferred not to."

A thought occurred to me. "I think that might be the problem, Sherlock. I think she might need you to be a parent now."

"But I'm not her parent."

"No, I know that. But she doesn't. She's three and doesn't know what you are to her any more and I think she's trying to work that out with you."

"By biting me?"

"She's three, Sherlock. I've known adults less capable of communicating effectively." There was a moment when both of us wondered if I was talking about him. "Sherlock, go and talk to her. I think she needs you to right now."

He seemed to summon his courage and went out into the hallway. I listened through the doorway.

"I want Daddy," she told him.

"Well," he said slowly, "you've got me."

"I don't love you any more."

There was a pause. I wondered how Sherlock would deal with this. His own instinct in situations where he was hearing something he didn't want to, was to turn around and walk away until he was placated

I heard him sigh and sit down next to her.

"Well, it's OK that you don't love me any more, Turnip. That's OK. But I still love you. The fact is you're not allowed to bite people. If you do, you go on the thinking step. That doesn't mean I don't love you though."

I almost fell off my chair in surprise. I had not expected him to say something that was so well balanced. If it had been me, I'd probably have guilt tripped her into a retraction, even though I knew full well she actually did love me and was just saying it to hurt. It occurred to me that he had probably been reading various parenting books and possibly some on child psychology.

"Did I hurt you there?" she asked him.

"Yes, that's where you bit me. It did hurt me. Daddy's made it better for me."

"Should I kiss it better?"

"Yes, I think that would help."

There was the sound of her doing so.

"Thank you. Turnip, you're not allowed to bite me," he told her again. "You can't do it. If you do, I will put you on the thinking step again."

"I'm very sorry, Sherlock," she said, in a very small voice.

"Thank you, Turnip. You can go and play now."

There was the sound of her running into the living room. I went through to the hallway. Sherlock was still sat on the step, looking thunderstruck.

"She just took it!" he whispered to me. "She just sat there and accepted the fact that I was telling her off! And that I have rules!"

I smiled. "Well yes, Sherlock. At her age, most people seem to come with rules. It's a normal part of life."

"I want to tell her off again!"

"Don't get power hungry, Sherlock."

He frowned, as if this was a disappointment, but then I could see his mind whirring again as he considered this new dimension to his relationship with Scarlet.

Over the next few weeks, things slowly improved. Scarlet continued testing and pushing Sherlock, but he became more confident at setting boundaries, and eventually they settled down to something resembling their previous relationship. She still got tired and pushy at times, but it was within normal bounds again.

We all slowly relaxed.

It was a couple of weeks later that something happened that changed the way I saw both Sherlock and Scarlet.

We had been out for the day and we bought Scarlet a new film to watch. Outwardly, this was because of good behaviour, but secretly we both wanted something to distract her so we could have a bit of a rest in the afternoon.

Scarlet was happily watching it while talking to her doll, while Sherlock dozed on the sofa and I read the newspaper. Suddenly Scarlet saw something on the screen she didn't like, and she jumped out of her skin and ran to Sherlock with a look of concern on her face. He woke up and pulled her up into his arms.

"What is it, Turnip?"

"I don't like that monkey."

We looked across at the TV and there was indeed a particularly evil and psychotic looking monkey on the screen.

"I think it's going to be OK, Turnip," he told her while holding and stoking her. "I think Woody's going to stop him! Yes, look, he's all tied up now."

She turned her head slightly so she could check. Satisfied that all was now well, she snuggled next to him to watch the rest of the film. I watched them for a while, just enjoying the moment.

"Sherlock, do you want to adopt Scarlet?" I suddenly asked. I had no idea where the question had come from at all.

He frowned at me. "She has a parent."

"Yes, I know. I mean… I mean I haven't thought of it before a second ago, but I think what I mean is for you to be her parent as well as me, rather than instead of me."

He smelled her hair and kissed her lightly while she watched the film, oblivious that we were having a serious conversation about her future.

"Is that even possible?"

I thought about it. "I think so, yes. My cousin's husband adopted her child without her giving up her own rights. The biological father had to give up his rights, but that wouldn't be an issue in this case."

He looked at me. "She's still Mary's daughter."

I may have blushed then. I wondered if it was completely wrong to have made the suggestion. I thought about it a while. I knew I still loved Mary, and occasionally I still had moments of wishing she was still alive and things could be back to normal. Then, afterwards, I'd always feel horribly guilty on account of Sherlock. Countering that were times when I barely remembered she'd ever been around, when it seemed as though Sherlock had always been a part of my life. Then, afterwards, I'd always feel horribly guilty on account of Mary.

It had taken a while, but I'd gradually come to accept the fact that I would always love Mary, even if the time we'd had together had been so horribly short, but that Sherlock was Now and loving him and wanting to build a family with him wasn't wrong. And I knew with complete certainty that Mary wouldn't think it was wrong either.

He was staring intently at me as I pondered these things.

"I think," I said to him, "that I wasn't so much thinking of giving away Mary's daughter, as I was thinking about sharing mine with you."

His eyes flashed at this, and his face dropped into Scarlet's hair. I could see he had closed off from me, and that I wouldn't get an answer until he'd thought about all of this completely.

I went back to my newspaper.

A few weeks later I finally got an answer. A case had taken Sherlock to the mortuary at Bart's and he popped over to the main teaching building to visit my office. It felt like a strangely domestic thing for him to do, and he certainly seemed out of his element, stood in my office, and looking around as if he'd never been in a similar room before. He briefly nosed through my bookshelf, commented on my completely inability to keep a potted plant alive, then sat down at my desk to check his email. All of a sudden he stopped, and stared.

"When was this taken?" he demanded, picking up a framed photo I had on my desk.

It depicted Sherlock on a swing with his arm around Scarlet who's sat on his knee. Neither of them had noticed me with the camera and they were both looking away, faces shining with love and laughter.

"Last summer. I can't remember the exact date. You were in the park."

"Obviously."

He studied it for a while. "What have you done to my face?" he asked me.

"I haven't done anything to your face!" I looked over his shoulder to see what he meant. I'd always liked that particular photo. The only other one on my desk was of Scarlet, taken by the nursery photographer. There was one of Mary that I kept in my desk drawer.

He frowned some more, then put the photograph down, and lent his head on his steepled fingertips. I wondered if I was going to an indication of what he was thinking about.

"Why did you ask if I wanted to adopt Scarlet?"

"Because she sees you as a father now. I wanted to know if you felt the same way about her."

"I don't see her as a father."

"You know what I mean."

"Your language is untidy, John. You need to pay more attention when you're talking. You're her father. She knows that."

"Yes. But I think she sees you that way too. When she's scared, or hurt, or worried, she comes to you."

"Only when you're not there."

"No. Actually sometimes even when I'm there."

Saying this out loud made me realise how much I loved him. If Scarlet had acted this way with anyone else I'd have been quite hurt. There was nothing in the world as important to me as she was, and I wanted to share that with him.

He gave me one of those stares that made me feel as though he was stripping my down to my soul and I stood there and let him do so. Eventually he sat back in the chair.

"John, I'd very much like to adopt Scarlet. I think she's... astonishing. I love her. I don't know what it feels like to love a daughter, but I can't imagine loving anyone else the way I love her. I will adopt her." He watched me closely as I smiled at this news. "_If_ she wants me to when she's old enough to understand what it means. I'm not going to insist on it without her having a say."

I absorbed this. It was by far the fairest thing he could do. I couldn't help feel disappointed though. Part of me felt rejected. I nodded at him. He got up from the chair and came over to me and kissed me. A long lingering kiss that made me forget about everything else while it lasted. I drowned in him for a moment. He pulled away.

"I love you," he told me. Then he cleared his throat and in his usual, every-day voice, he told me he had to go somewhere.

I stood in my office, quite dazed until I noticed Dr. Carlson staring at me from his office window in the building opposite. I shook my head and sat down at my desk. A moment later I swore when I realised I was ten minutes late for a lecture. Sherlock still had a way of turning my everyday life into turmoil in a matter of seconds.

Sherlock wasn't home when I got back with Scarlet that evening. He didn't get back in time for Scarlet's bedtime and I enjoyed a moment of reading to her, and snuggling on her bed. I left her to go to sleep and came downstairs and started tidying up, being careful not to disturb anything that looked like it related to Sherlock's current case.

I heard him come in just after nine. He came in via the kitchen door and stopped to look at me.

"I called Westminster registry office and they can marry us at four on Tuesday the third of June, if you're interested."

He stalked off into the living room. I stood there for a moment, shocked. After a moment, I put down the plate I was holding (I couldn't remember why), and walked through to look at him. He was sat on the sofa, staring at the fireplace.

"Sherlock, that has got to be possibly the worst proposal I have ever heard. Or have even heard about."

He glanced at me. "So you're saying no."

"No I'm not."

"So you're saying yes, then?"

"No, actually I'm not saying anything until you ask me properly."

"Well if you don't want to..."

"That's not what I said." I leaned on the back of my armchair and stared at him.

"Look if you're going to make it into a big deal..."

I laughed. "Sherlock! Of course it's a big deal! No-one has ever asked me to marry them before! I'd quite like to savour the moment for a moment. When someone does actually ask me, that is!"

He looked over at me and I knew then that he knew that I absolutely would marry him. There were smouldering fires in the backs of his eyes.

"You could ask me, you know," he told me.

"I know. You could ask me too."

"I'm not getting down on one knee."

"No no, that's fine, Sherlock. Just an actual proposal would probably do it."

He suddenly leapt up and stormed from the room. I watched him go with a grin. He darted down the stairs and outside onto the pavement. He stopped just outside of the house, and I could see him from the window, pacing up and down, scratching his head. He occasionally stopped and appeared to be having an animated discussion with himself. But then he would stop and stare into space for a while. After about ten minutes, he turned around and came back inside.

I wondered if he knew I was watching him, but it was Sherlock, so I assumed he did.

I quickly darted away from the window and sat in his armchair, waiting patiently.

I looked at me darkly when I came in.

"John Watson..." he started, but then he stopped again.

"Yes?"

"John Watson, you are an idiot."

"Good start."

"But you appear to be an idiot that I am very much in love with. And having given the matter due consideration, I feel that despite your idiocity..."

"Is that even a word?"

"Shut up. Despite _that, _I would be very much honoured..." his voice choked and he cleared his throat and centred himself. "I would be _very much _honoured, if you would join me in a full, legal Civil Union. Or if you prefer to informally refer to it as marriage, then that." He looked at me steadily. "Please."

I savoured the moment.

"OK then."

"OK then? I did all that and I get an 'OK then'." He sat down on my armchair in a huff.

"Sherlock?" He didn't look at me but his eyebrow jerked slightly. "Sherlock, I would very much like to marry you. Thank you for asking me. I will absolutely marry you. Completely."

"OK then. Good." There was a slow smile that crept over his face. It looked as if he wanted to fight it but it was no good. He was soon grinning broadly.

"Good." I grinned too. "I'm torn between texting everyone we've ever met and pulling you to the bedroom and jumping your bones."

"I vote bedroom."

* * *

**Once again, thank you so much for the reviews! **

**There almost certainly will be a Sherlock perspective sex scene - I just seem a bit stuck in my John voice at the moment, but as Sherlock's got the next (wedding) chapter, that might get me into the right place for it. **

**There were a couple more prompts that came in - I love the idea about them as an older couple, a couple of you asked about the double date with Mike and Jane (am I the only one who thinks Sherlock would stand John up?), and there will be coming out scenes, at the very least with Lestrade for whom I have an idea. There will be a chapter somehow connected to Scarlet's school too, and I think I will do one of an adoption, probably when she's about ten. I'd like to do one where John responds to an injured Sherlock, and I'm very tempted to re-write a couple of scenarios from Fun but with this home set up.  
**


	11. Wedding Day

**Quick note: I'm gutted that I've already put in writing that Lestrade didn't know about the wedding. Oh well.**

**

* * *

**_June 3__rd__, following Scarlet's third birthday._

I ruined my wedding day. Worse than that, I ruined John's wedding day. Though arguably he'd already had one that I hadn't ruined, so it was worse for me.

John of course disputes this fact, and assures me that nobody's wedding day was ruined, but that is because he's an idiot. He is a forgiving idiot whom I happen to love, but an idiot non-the-less.

I had managed to distract him from contacting our acquaintances to forewarn them of this event, and quite quickly after we'd confirmed the appointment, I explained that I'd prefer a smaller ceremony.

I thought for a moment I could detect some disappointment in him, but he agreed readily enough.

"When I say small," I told him, "I mean just me, you and Scarlet."

"Wow. That is small."

"I just... it's me and you, John. None of the rest of them matter."

We didn't talk about it much more until after we'd had dinner and put Scarlet to bed.

"Well, we'll need two witnesses," John pointed out.

"Can't we just use someone from the registry office?"

"No. I would like someone that we know to witness the event. Tell you what, you choose one and I'll choose the other."

This seemed fair. I gave the matter some thought. Ideally I'd need to choose a single person so they wouldn't assume their partner was welcome, and who would likely to be available on a weekday afternoon. Lestrade briefly appeared in my mind, before the perfect candidate occurred to me.

"Mrs Hudson," I told him.

John smiled broadly and I knew he'd approved of my choice. It was true she did care for both of us very much. She was warmer with me than Mummy had ever been, and she'd been elated when John had returned to Baker Street as my partner. Besides all of which, she could help with Scarlet.

"OK then," he said, "I'll have Mycroft."

I turned on him with surprise and a certain amount of disgust to find him nonchalantly digging through the cupboards for teabags.

"Mycroft? _Mycroft?_" I was baffled as to why he'd even make the suggestion.

"Yes, Mycroft. I'll text him now."

He reached for his phone but I grabbed it and threw it behind me, out of his reach. "Why?" I demanded.

"Because I want Mycroft to be at my wedding."

"Liar."

He looked at me and sighed. "Because I want Mycroft to be at your wedding."

I sat back down at the table and looked at John. I continued to struggle with the emphasis John put on me having a loving familial relationship with my brother. He had invited him to dinner on two occasions, and had only stopped doing that because I refused to have sex with him following the second time. The irony is that I was a second away from giving in when he conceded. Mycroft is amusing in his own way. Insufferable, but amusing. Certainly having him to dinner occasionally isn't nearly as bad as not having sex with John.

I sensed there was something else behind this and I suspected it was Harry. She'd been missing now for nearly six months. Not 'vanished into a puff of smoke', case-worthy levels of disappearance. She just moved out of her house, left her job and changed her phone number. I could have found her for him in less than three hours. In fact I could find her in ten minutes if I was to just call Mycroft as I'm fairly certain he's tracking everyone in both of our lives just for the fun of it. But John hadn't asked me to, and I suspected that was for a reason.

Though he'd never said as much to me, I knew he felt guilty and responsible for Harry. He felt that he should be able to make a difference to her. If he had have said as much as this to me, I would have told him he was being ridiculous. Thinking about it, this is probably why he'd never talked about it with me.

But it occurred to me that John felt one of us should have their sibling present at our wedding, and his was unavailable. It wasn't until much, much later that I realised that there was a deeper level to this. John didn't want me to lose Mycroft the way he'd lost Harry, because he didn't want me to feel the sadness he felt.

When my brain recognises them, I find I love examining these intensely loving acts. John manages them so spontaneously and I almost never notice until months have gone by.

"Fine," I told him. "We'll have Mycroft."

John did text him, and his car arrived less than an hour later to hand deliver a printed RSVP card. He'd had it printed in gold ink the ostentatious bastard.

oOo

We both appeared to avoid talking about our wedding day before the event. I found, and I had not expected this at all, that I was vaguely superstitious about it. I felt that if I mentioned it more than was necessary, John might suddenly realise that he was making a commitment to me that would be expected last until one of us died. I seemed to feel that he'd run a mile if he noticed that.

Mrs Hudson appeared very early on the morning of the third of June to fuss around us and to generally get in the way. We sent her off quite early as neither one of us had thought to order a flower for our button holes and suddenly on the day we felt we'd rather like to have them.

Initially, I'd been pleased at a later booking on the day. It certainly left much less time afterwards for long celebrations, but now I found I was anxious to get the ceremony out of the way. I looked out of the window at the stream of rush hour traffic wondering why anyone would go to work today which was clearly not a normal day.

It occurred to me that I might not being quite rational about all of this. Annoyingly John noticed it before I did and he sent me on an errand to buy a cake. It took me an embarrassing amount of time, and several arguments in baker's shops for me to realise that there was no conceivable reason for us to have a wedding cake for five people, no reason at all for the cake to have the very specific icing and decorations that John had insisted on, and there was no real way for a Baker to produce such a beast at such short notice. I returned home in time for lunch with a bag of jam doughnuts from Tesco. I put a couple of Lego figures on top of one and presented John with his wedding cake.

He took it well. His eyes flashed as he laughed and I wondered again why I had to wait another three hours to marry the man.

We both showered and dressed and I smiled at John in his new suit (pale grey, I'd convinced him to see a decent tailor) and I looked forward to taking it off him later. We'd waited until the last possible moment to bath and dress Scarlet as she had a remarkable ability to get dirty in a clean room. I dressed her while John tried to tie his own tie. I'd bought her a blue silk dress and she looked enchanting in it. When John appeared she dashed up to him.

"Look Daddy! I'm beautiful!"

He smiled at her. "Yes you are!"

"I'm not allowed to tell you how much it cost!"

"Uh-huh. How much did it cost?"

"It was... it was... maybe a million pounds!"

"OK then."

He gave me a look, but I knew he wasn't really cross with me.

"I couldn't do her hair," I told him.

"That's OK, I'll do it. I couldn't do my tie."

"No. I'll do it. Really I wonder how you lasted so long in the military without being able to tie your own tie."

"Well, maybe I can do it, but I prefer to have the help."

I looked into his eyes as he said this and I shivered. Sometimes John made me feel incredibly stupid. It was an intriguing and addictive feeling.

Mrs Hudson bustled in. "Now, are you boys ready? If we don't get in a cab soon we'll all be late and then where would we be?"

oOo

Mycroft was waiting for us at the registry office, looking annoyingly self-satisfied. I found it fairly easy to ignore him as we were ushered towards a room, set up with far too many chairs, and a table at the front.

As I stood in the doorway, I was suddenly terrified. I had no idea why. It was fairly clear that I wasn't going to be stood up as John was there with me. I was fairly sure I'd be competent enough to state my name, repeat some words, and sign a document when necessary. I could feel the box containing John's ring in my breast pocket, so I knew I hadn't forgotten it. Logically, if there was nothing about the next half hour that I couldn't cope with, my fears must be there because of what might happen afterwards.

Not the wedding night; I was fairly sure I could cope with that, but everything else. There were a million different things that might happen to us in our lives and I had no idea if I had the ability to stand with John through all of them. Previously, my main concern had been to persuade, cajole, and insist that he married me simply because I wanted him. This was the first moment that I'd questioned whether I would be good enough for him.

A part of me was deeply concerned that the best friend I'd ever had was about to make the worst decision of his entire life.

Mycroft was suddenly at my side, looking concerned. "Are you all right, Sherlock?" he said softly. I stared at him struggling to work out what he could possibly be talking about.

"Sherlock?" John called to me with a smile on his face. "You'll kind of have to be in here if you want to take part!"

I looked at him and started breathing again. He made all of it look so easy. He made me feel as if there would be nothing I couldn't do as long as he was there. I went into the room, and were greeted and smiled at by the registrar. She explained several things to us, she read out several legal sounding phrases, she made us repeat some things after her.

I barely remember it before the part where the rings came out. I took John's ring out of my pocket. A simple gold band which I'd had engraved on the inside. It had taken me forty minutes of standing at the jeweller's desk to decide what to put on it. It said 'I love you. SH' and the date of the wedding. I watched, confused, as my hands shook so much I could barely get it on his finger. I hadn't expected that.

John laughed slightly and held my hand to his lips to kiss it, and I was suddenly annoyed that I hadn't filled this room, or an even bigger room, with people. I suddenly wanted even passing acquaintances, even people I'd helped to convict of crimes, to be here to witness how much I loved this man.

He took a ring out of his own pocket. Again, I hadn't been expecting this. It suddenly occurred to me that for an event of such great significance, I'd barely researched today at all.

The ring he'd chosen for me was modern, in brushed steel, with a thin, polished gold stripe along the centre. I could see an engraving on mine too, but it was on my finger before I could read it.

Then suddenly we were being told that it was finished, and we could kiss.

I grabbed John's head and kissed him passionately. Again, I wished I'd filled the room with people. I briefly entertained the idea of divorcing him so that I could marry him again.

Mrs Hudson came forward to kiss us both and I suddenly found I was embracing Mycroft, which was odd. I released him and picked up Scarlet instead and she instantly told me she was hungry. The registrar gently suggested that we might like some photographs. I was about to tell her that of course I'd remember everything, when I suddenly realised that I the memory I had of the last half hour was hazy at best. I was surprised but grateful that Mrs Hudson had brought a camera with her. I was even more surprised when a professional photographer was called into the room by Mycroft.

I suggested that we did the whole ceremony again, so that he could photograph all of it, but for some reason everyone thought I was joking and they all laughed. I wished Mycroft could have told me he was there before the ceremony.

Mycroft announced that he'd booked us a table at the Oxo Tower, and though I was for more eager to take John home to consummate our marriage, John looked as if he liked the idea and was already thanking Mycroft. I think I would have followed John pretty much anywhere at that moment, so I let him lead me outside to where there were two cars waiting for us. Scarlet went with Mrs Hudson and Mycroft in one, and John and I were alone in the other car.

After a few minutes, I noticed that John was staring at me. He seemed amused.

"Are you OK, Sherlock?" he asked me.

"I'm fine. Of course I'm fine."

"It's just you look a little dazed."

"Dazed?"

I thought about this. Perhaps that was the best way to describe how I was feeling. I felt light-headed, dizzy and slightly confused. I tried to calm myself and focus more clearly.

"That was a marvellous wedding, don't you think, John? I've been at several weddings before and that one was far better than other weddings."

He laughed.

"Why doesn't everyone have a wedding just like that one?" I went on. "It was perfect. I thought it would just be a matter of signing paper things like you do with other contracts, but it really wasn't!"

"Well, other people like to have things like readings and sometimes even churches and songs."

"Those people are stupid."

He laughed again and I sat back, blissfully happy and feeling strangely full and complete, even though it had been several hours since I'd barely eaten lunch.

"Wasn't that the best wedding you've ever been at, John?" As soon as I said it I felt guilty about suggesting he should compare this wedding to his other one.

Fortunately he just laughed again. "It was fairly perfect, Sherlock."

I slipped my ring off my finger to see the inscription. It read _'I love you. JW' _and the date. I felt overwhelmed for a moment and I briefly worried that I would cry.

Fortunately, we pulled in outside the restaurant and I was able to focus on other things.

We were ushered to a table on the balcony, and I sat there with the river and the whole of London to my left, and John to my right. I couldn't have felt so completely at home anywhere else. Mycroft opened a bottle of champagne and poured us each a glass. He toasted our health. Mrs Hudson toasted our marriage, and John toasted Scarlet (who chinked her glass of grape juice with the rest of us). I toasted John, and by that time we needed a second bottle.

This is the point at which I ruined our wedding day. I didn't notice at the time though.

I was vaguely aware of John chatting with Mycroft, and Mrs Hudson chatting with Scarlet, who was behaving brilliantly. I found I was distracted by the river, and by London, and by the dazed feeling John had noticed earlier. I could hear Mycroft offering John the use of his villa in Sardinia and I started imaging the three of us swimming in his pool under the Mediterranean sun. Mrs Hudson suggested Scarlet stayed with her for the duration, and instantly she vanished from my day-dream, along with our swimming costumes.

That thought distracted me no end and I tried to calm down. I sipped at my champagne. I know there was food that came to our table, and I may have picked at some of it, but I was overwhelmed by all of these emotions, and I spent most of my time staring at the river, often over the top of my glass. I was fairly sure I was drinking slowly, because no matter how much I drank, my glass was never empty.

It seemed only minutes later that Mrs Hudson suggested that she took Scarlet home. She also offered to have her overnight, so that John and I could relax on our wedding night.

"Oh, we won't be relaxing," I told her, "we'll probably be having sex." It occurred to me that I wasn't completely sure that she needed that information. Apparently my 'appropriate conversation sensor' which wasn't great at the best of times, had decided to switch itself off entirely.

John and Mycroft both found this very funny, but Mrs Hudson seemed to take it in her stride. We left the restaurant and helped Mrs Hudson and Scarlet into one of the waiting cars.

"Are you sure you don't want a lift home?" Mycroft asked us.

"No, we're going to walk it all off for a bit, but thank you. Thank you for everything, Mycroft." John shook his hand while I wondered when we'd made that decision, and what exactly he was intending to walk off.

Mycroft looked at me strangely. "I'm very happy for you, Sherlock," he said. "I really hope... well, I hope that all of this goes well for you. For what it's worth I think you've made a very good choice."

I felt overwhelmed with emotion again and wondered if married life would continue to be a bombardment of strange and confusing emotions. I hugged Mycroft, which looking back was completely unnecessary, but it seemed quite normal at the time.

John was laughing again, and he took my hand.

"Come on, Sherlock, let's go home."

"I love you, John," I told him. I remember being deeply concerned that he didn't understand this.

"I love you too, Sherlock."

"I know. It says so on my ring."

He laughed again.

"I love your laugh, John," I told him.

"Thank you."

"You know that I love you, don't you?"

"I do, Sherlock."

"I do too. I told them that. Or was it 'I will'? I can't remember. We should go back and find that woman who married us and ask her." I remember thinking that this was absolutely logical at the time.

I tried to pull him along but for some reason he resisted this.

"Let's go home, Sherlock."

"Yes! Home. When we're home we should have sex. Lots and lots of sex."

"I'm not convinced you'll be capable when we get home, Sherlock."

I stopped and thought about this. I remember thinking that it was a shame that John persisted in underestimating me. It seemed important that I should explain my powers to him once and for all so I stood in front of him, and held his head still between my two hands and looked at him steadily. He looked at me patiently, with his eyebrows slightly raised.

"I've forgotten what I was going to say," I told him.

He laughed. "I'm sure it wasn't important then."

"No it was!" I told him, not letting him go until I'd remembered. I opted for the only important thing I could think of at the moment. "I love you!"

"I know. I love you too." He laughed again. I remember thinking he was a moron, who couldn't possibly understand.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I told him, while shaking his head for emphasis. "I _really_ love you."

"I understand, Sherlock. It's OK."

I found I was feeling dazed and dizzy again, and there was a strange whistling sound in my ears. I realised I was holding John's face and I took the opportunity to kiss him. As I did so I realised that the noise and the dizziness stopped entirely. I found that interesting, and decided I'm make sure I'd keep John close by in case I got dizzy again. I wonder if he knew he had this special power.

"You should be a doctor, John. You make people feel better."

"Good. Thanks, Sherlock, I'll keep that in mind. Let's go home now."

This seemed like a sensible idea, and I remember feeling pleased that I'd finally suggested it. We were suddenly on a bridge, and I wasn't sure which bridge it was or how we'd got there. I felt the dizziness again, so I kissed John again.

At some point after that, John decided that we'd walked far enough and he hailed a cab.

"Is he drunk?" the driver asked, somewhat rudely.

"No, not very drunk anyway," John told him. "He'll be fine."

"I am drunk!" I told them both. "I'm drunk on love!"

That sounded significantly better at the time than it does now.

Fortunately, the cabbie wasn't overcome with twee and he allowed us to get in and drove us home while I tried to match my ear exactly against John's. I had a brief panic when I thought I'd lost my ring, but then I found it on my hand. That made me dizzy, so I kissed John again.

I was still dizzy when we reached Baker Street, but John insisted that we stop kissing while he paid the cab and unlocked the door.

"Well it will be your fault if I fall over!" I pointed.

I may have been a little noisy getting into the house. Certainly Mrs Hudson heard us and she stuck her head out of the door, though it could quite easily be John who was noisy, as I am regularly stealth-like.

"Scarlet's settled like a lamb," she told us.

"Thanks for having her, Mrs H. And thanks for coming today too," John replied.

"It was my pleasure, John." She looked passed him to me. I had taken the opportunity to sit on the steps for a rest.

"I love John, Mrs Hudson," I explained to her.

"I know you do, Dear."

I remember becoming frustrated by the amount of people who didn't seem to understand this basic but fairly fundamental fact.

"No, Mrs Hudson. I _really_ love him." She continued smiling at me. "Really, Mrs Hudson, please! Nobody has ever loved anyone the way I love him!"

She smiled again. "That's lovely, Sherlock." She looked at John. "Will you be OK with him?" I had no idea what this was referring to.

"I'll be fine, Mrs H. Nothing I can't handle."

Clearly this was some sort of code and I couldn't make sense of it at all, but Mrs Hudson seemed to understand him and she disappeared into her flat again.

I suddenly remembered what was supposed to happen next.

"Sex, John!"

He laughed. "Well I suppose you could try." He hooked me under the arm and pulled me up and we walked all the way upstairs to our room.

"There are a stupid amount of stairs in this flat," I complained when we finally got to our bedroom.

He laughed again and pulled me into a kiss, which was quite convenient because the stairs had made me quite dizzy again.

He pulled away. "Sherlock, thank you for today. Really, thank you. I love you incredibly." He seemed to be blinking back tears.

I was stunned, momentarily. John has told me he loves me regularly, but for some reason I felt particularly moved by this. I found I was fighting tears too and I didn't know what to say. I kissed him again, and then finding I liked this, I stayed pressing my lips against his while trying to undress him. He seemed to catch onto the idea as he conveniently removed my jacket and tie too. He also helped me out with several of his own buttons.

I got as far as his shorts before my hands simply stopped working so I just pushed him roughly onto the bed and leapt on top of him. This action seemed to be a mistake and suddenly my head was ringing and throbbing, so I quickly kissed him again. Unfortunately his kiss seemed to be malfunctioning now and this was the point at which I disgraced myself.

I felt acid rising and to my shame I had to pull away from him so I could lean over the bed to vomit.

I shut my eyes tightly and stayed very still in the hope that John wouldn't have noticed. This was when I realised I probably wasn't being quite rational.

John was gently stroking my back. "Did you at least manage to hit the bin?" he asked me. He sounded quite amused.

I opened my eyes warily and checked. There was indeed a waste-paper bin about six inches from where I'd aimed. Well not really _aimed_. More _hit_.

"I think I've ruined your suit," I told him.

"_Sherlock_!"

I realised I was kneeling on his thigh which was probably hurting him so I climbed off and lay flat on my back, watching the ceiling spin for a while.

"Sorry," I told him, "I think it was the wine."

He laughed again. "Really? You surprise me, Sherlock. Who could have predicted that if you drank a bottle and a half of champagne on no food it would probably come up again at some point in the evening? Oh, maybe your husband, the Doctor, who told you to calm down several times."

"Did you?" I asked, while buzzing over the word 'husband'.

"I did." He got up from the bed and gathered up his suit and took it away.

"Where are you going?" I asked him alarmed. Unlike John, who likes privacy and time when he's ill, I tended to panic a touch, and feel that everyone should witness my misery.

"I'll be back in a minute."

He did return promptly with a glass of water and a plastic bowl.

"I don't need that!" I told him crossly, "I'm not a child! I can make it to the bathroom."

"Evidence seems to suggest otherwise," he told me, because he seemed to feel the need to be a smart-alec.

"I can't drink wine."

"That wasn't wine, that was sixty-pounds-a-bottle champagne, courtesy of Mycroft."

"Mycroft! Yes! This is his fault!"

"Yes, I'm sure he thought 'My little brother's an idiot who can't pace himself, I will use that in a cunning scheme,' and then he ordered us several bottles of extremely good champagne."

"I'm not an idiot! And I can drink other stuff, but not wine. Not without food."

"You should have eaten. That lobster looked very nice. Delicious and buttery."

My stomach lurched again and I was suddenly grateful for the basin.

"Oh dear, Sherlock," John said, rubbing my back and I knew he was grinning. "Does poor baby have a sore tummy?"

"Shut up," I told him, "I'm not above divorce, you know." This was probably the emptiest threat I've ever made.

"Drink this," he commanded me, handing me the water. He took the bowl away and brought it back again clean, which seemed above the call of duty. I suddenly felt very ashamed.

"I'm sorry, John."

"It's OK, Sherlock."

"No it's not. I ruined our wedding night. You're supposed to be getting top quality sex with your new husband, not cleaning up his sick."

He smiled at me. "It's OK. We'll still be married tomorrow night." He started getting into his pyjamas.

"I might be on a case though. I shouldn't have married you. It was utterly selfish."

"If I'd have thought so, I wouldn't have married you. Now don't go getting all maudlin."

"You're an idiot."

"I know, Sherlock." He got into bed next to me and snuggled up to me, kissing me gently on the forehead. "Go to sleep now. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Now you'll think everything I've said was just because I was drunk."

"Shh. Go to sleep. You can always tell me it again when you're sober."

I sniffed and very carefully nestled against him. A few minutes later I was asleep.

I woke up early the next morning and waited patiently for John to wake up. After five minutes I got bored of this so I poked him a few times.

He stirred and looked at me. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

"Randy."

He smiled. "Oh good."

* * *

**This was significantly longer than I'd anticipated even having cut about 1,000 words. **

**Thank you again for the reviews. M, yes, I need to get Sherlock back to work somehow, and I'll give that some thought. It might well be merged with another prompt for a bit of home conflict between in the family. I have written a couple of non-slash, non-family, straight-forward mysteries, and I will at some point write another, but this fic is fulfilling its purpose for me for now. I'm glad you're enjoying it non-the-less!**

**Other prompts have come in and thanks to all of you for all of them!**


	12. Shot 1

_Scarlet is seven. It's June._

I was in a very deep sleep when the phone started ringing and it was a real struggle to reach consciousness. The phone stopped, then started again a few seconds later.

"Sherlock! Phone," I mumbled, kicking out at him.

My foot hit duvet and I remembered that he had said he'd be out late on a case. It was possible he was calling to let me know he was on the way home. He preferred me awake after a case. It was equally possible he was downstairs and he needed me to go and find a pen or a teabag, or to just be talked at for an hour or two.

The phone stopped, and then started again. I reached out blindly for it and answered.

"Sherlock, what do you want. If it's a pen, or sex, you can sod off."

"John? Are you awake?"

It was a voice I recognised and I struggled hard to wake up properly.

"Greg?"

"John, I'm at St. Mary's hospital with Sherlock. Can you come? He's been shot."

"Greg?"

"John, please wake up."

"I'm awake. He's been shot? What? How?" My eyes were finally open and I struggled to sit up and work out what I needed to do next. I was mentally searching for clothes and my wallet.

"It was... it was an accident, John. It was... we didn't know he had an accomplice. We didn't know they were armed."

I could hear the panic sounding in Lestrade's voice.

"Where was he shot?"

"In the chest."

My heart skipped for a moment.

"Was he awake?"

"For a while. Not by the time the ambulance got here. Can you come? Please?"

I was mostly dressed by now. "Yes. Which hospital?"

"St. Mary's."

"I'll be there shortly."

I stamped into my shoes and looked in a Scarlet's door on the way past. I decided against waking her. She'd find it hard to get to sleep again once I'd woken her and explained. I ran down the stairs, gathering money, keys and my jacket on my way to Mrs Hudson's flat.

She seemed to take hours to get to her door and I felt guilty for waking her and desperate to leave at the same time. She looked deeply worried as I explained what had happened, but agreed to sleep upstairs and to keep an eye on Scarlet. I promised I'd update her as soon as I could. I hoped that I'd be home with Sherlock in the next few hours, but I kept that to myself for fear of giving her false hope.

Then it was just a matter of finding a cab. As I was looking for one I remembered to call Mycroft. I felt ashamed at the lack of information that I had, but he agreed to meet me at the hospital.

He was already there, looking bewildered in the Emergency Department, when I arrived. We were ushered down a corridor and a door to a family room was opened for us. It was the same as any such room in any hospital in London. Five old chairs, a table stacked with old magazines, and a vending machine. Lestrade, was there, looking exhausted and grey. I sank into a chair, opposite him.

"Inspector Lestrade! What happened?" Mycroft asked.

"It was like an ambush. They knew we were coming. They knew we were coming for them and they'd armed up."

"How did Sherlock not know?" Mycroft demanded.

"He probably did," I pointed out. "It's how he gets his kicks. He probably knew, Mycroft." I wondered if I should be angry with him, knowing this, but nothing was getting past the terror.

Mycroft sat down too. I'd never seen him looking so shocked.

"Greg, did you come in the ambulance with him?" I asked him.

"Yeah."

"And he was alive when he got here?" It seemed callous to ask, but I needed to know.

"Yes, he... he didn't need the panels or anything. They put a tube in his throat though."

I frowned. "Through his mouth? They intubated?"

"Yes, that one. They put him on a stretcher and put a tube down his mouth. I think the bullet hit lung."

I nodded. The fact that he was alive still helped me to rule out a hit to the heart or any of the main arteries or veins. A hit to the lung was far from ideal, but it was more than I'd dared hope for.

"There was a lot..." his voice trailed off for a moment, and I had to remind myself that he was here in a greater capacity than just 'policeman' or even than 'colleague'. "There was a lot of blood, John," he finally got out.

I nodded again. "Thank you."

We waited together in silence for a while. A nurse suddenly appeared and looked tentatively into the room.

"Is one of you the partner of Mr Sherlock Holmes?"

I stood up. "Yes, I'm his husband."

She smiled at me. "I was wondering if I could go over a few things with you?"

I nodded. "We'll talk in the corridor," I told her. I had the impression that Mycroft was about to object but Lestrade restrained him.

Most of it was straight forward background information, and I could trot out the answers to the questions on the form before she'd even asked them. I signed off for the surgery, even though it was a little late by that point.

"What's going on with him?" I asked her when she'd finished.

"I haven't had a report yet, but I expect he'll be in surgery for a while."

"He's been shot to the chest and I have some idea what that means but I'm in the dark here. I need to know where he's been shot, what damage there is, what his blood pressure is, what his heart rate is... please..." I faltered slightly. "Please, I'd be really grateful for whatever information you can get for me."

"He came in with a collapsed lung and extreme blood loss but he stayed stable enough to get into surgery with no intervention first. That's as much as I know but I'll speak to the surgical nurses and get what I can."

"Can I watch? I can scrub up! I'm an expert in trauma surgery..." but she was already shaking her head.

"I'm really sorry, Doctor Watson. We can't do that."

I knew that of course but I was beginning to get a little desperate.

When I got back to the family room the other two looked at me eagerly.

"I'm sorry, I have no information. She's going to find out what she can though."

I sat down next to them.

We were left alone for several hours, before another nurse in scrubs appeared at the door. "Doctor Watson?"

I asked and followed her into the corridor. I could tell she was a surgical nurse. There were traces of blood on her scrubs trousers and I knew it was Sherlock's. I was briefly terrified about what she was going to tell me.

"He's still in surgery, and he's alive," she told me quickly, calming me instantly. "One of my colleagues changed shift with me and Kate told me you needed information. There was extensive damage to Mr Holmes' left lung and that's causing the team some headaches, but neither the heart nor the main blood vessels were hit. His blood pressure is low and we're going slowly and carefully on account of that. He's being given type specific blood and though his blood pressure and pulse aren't steady, he hasn't crashed at all. They think it's going to be at least a couple more hours though. I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you more."

"No, thank you for coming to fill me in. Thank you."

I was grateful for the update. I had a glimmer of hope but it was quickly extinguished. Complications from this sort of surgery were commonplace and I was deeply concerned about the amount of blood he was losing. I knew everyone in there would be on the alert for his heart stopping and none of us would have any way whether that was about to happen until he was out of surgery, awake and completely stable. It would be a while before we would be at that point.

I went back into the family room, wondering how I'd be able to tidy all of this information up for Mycroft and Greg.

They were looking terrified when I went back in.

"He's OK, he's alive." There was instant relief. "He's still in surgery and he will be for some hours. I won't lie to you, he's in a somewhat precarious position right now, but what gives me hope is that at the moment he hasn't crashed as yet. I'm sorry; we just have to wait. Well, I do, but I'm happy to call and update you if you want to leave."

Both stared at me and neither made a move to go anywhere. They both looked more hopeful than I felt and I wondered if I'd oversold my 'upbeat message' a bit.

I sat down into a chair and stared at the wall. I was no good at waiting; I desperately wanted to see what was going on. With each passing minute I felt we were getting further and further away from a good outcome, which is ridiculous because I know you never can tell.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to stay focused. I checked my watch and it was approaching five. At seven I'd call Mrs Hudson to update her, and to speak to Scarlet. I hoped I'd have something good to tell them by that time.

I thought of Scarlet and felt guilty that she'd wake up confused as to why I wasn't there. I wondered if it was a mistake to leave her sleeping and not trying to explain. Sherlock would have tried to explain to her. He thinks I leave her in the dark too much.

Suddenly the injustice of the situation crashed in on me. It was so outrageously unfair. So completely fucking unfair. Sherlock had adopted Scarlet just four months before following months of explanations and discussions. They'd both been eager, but tentative and clear that they wanted to progress slowly.

Scarlet had been worried about writing Mary out of her life and Sherlock and I had been determined not to push her on account of that.

"After all, it's only a piece of paper," Sherlock had told me, trying to hide his disappointment. "It's not actually going to change the way we feel about each other, is it? We still know we're family."

Out loud I agreed with him, but inside I remembered how different he felt when our marriage certificate was signed and handed to us.

It was following several discussions relating to genetics rather than with a mind on an adoption, that Scarlet made her final decision.

"I'll always have Mum inside me," she told me. "In my blood and my DNA. That will never change. I've got yours too, but I haven't got Sherlock's but he's still my Dad. My Other Dad."

"Well, he's married to me, which makes him technically your Step-dad. He's happy with that if you are. You don't need to make a change if you don't want to."

She'd smiled at me. "No, it's not the same. He should belong to me because he belongs to _me_, not as an added extra because he belongs to you and we come as a pair. We shouldn't come as a pair and an extra, we should come as a three."

She'd become very clear at that point, and had insisted on the adoption.

I'll remember the day Sherlock became a Dad for the rest of my life. Even though it had less ceremony, it clearly felt more real to him than our wedding day. I suppose it helps that he didn't get hopelessly drunk afterwards.

So I felt so pleased that he'd experienced this, even if it was just for a few months. It still felt like one of few things I could give him in return for all he'd given me. On the other hand it was suddenly so hideously unfair for Scarlet. She'd had two living parents for just six months of her life. It seemed so hideously unjust.

I tried to remind myself that Sherlock might live, but now my mind had gone there, it refused to accept any other possibility than death.

I was suddenly aware that Mycroft and Lestrade were both staring at me, looking worried. I noticed my face was wet and I realised I'd been crying, and I hadn't noticed. I tried to find an excuse to leave the room for a while, but failing to think of anything, I just got up and left. I wondered if one of them would follow me and I was extremely grateful that neither of them did.

I wandered the corridors aimlessly for a while, and then noticed that the sun was rising outside so I wandered out into a courtyard to breathe the morning air and watch the sunrise. I checked my watch and it was only half an hour before I could call home, so I sat on a bench and waited.

Mrs Hudson answered my call quickly.

"John? Is he OK? Is he going to be all right?"

"I hope so, Mrs Hudson. He's still in surgery, so it's still hard to say precisely what's going on, but I'm hopeful. Is Scarlet OK?"

"Yes, she's a lamb, John. Can I put her on?"

"Please."

"Dad? What's happened? Mrs Hudson said that Sherlock was hurt!"

"Yes, that's right. He was out with the police and I'm afraid he got hurt."

"Is it very bad?"

"Yes, it's fairly bad but he's with the doctors now and they're trying to fix him right up. Now listen, Scarlet, I need you to be good for Mrs Hudson this morning. I need you to get your school uniform ready by yourself. Can you do that?"

"Do I have to go? Can't I come to the hospital with you?"

"No, sweetheart, you have to go to school, but I'll make sure I'm there to pick you up this afternoon. I promise."

"But Dad! Can't I stay with Mrs Hudson? I'll be really good!"

"No, Scarlet, please, I need you to listen to me now. I need you to go to school today. I know this is all a bit strange for you, but I need to be here, and I need to know you're safely at school, learning to be as brilliant as Sherlock is. Can you do that for me?"

She sighed. "OK."

"OK, I'll see you at three thirty. I promise. Put Mrs Hudson back on, OK?"

She did. I briefly explained about lunch money and that she'd need her guitar with her today, then thanking her for all her time and care, I hung up.

I looked up and Lestrade was hurrying towards me.

"John, we've been looking for you. They want to talk to you."

I hurried back in with him.

Mycroft was waiting and looking grave and waiting with the surgeon. He explained that they'd done all that they could for the time being, and that now the rest was down to Sherlock who was going to be transferred to Intensive Care shortly. They would be keeping him unconscious for some time to make sure his vital signs stayed stable. They wouldn't try to wake him until at least twenty four hours had gone by.

"Why was the surgery so long?" I asked him. "What was hit?"

"It was the type of bullet used; it fragmented inside him, tearing the left lung severely. There was quite a lot of blood loss, we had to give him eight units in the end, but he didn't crash at any point and at the moment that is really good news. Somehow, and given the weapon involved I don't know how, nothing hit the heart and nothing hit the aorta or the pulmonary arteries."

I nodded slowly. It could have been far worse. I'd seen and worked on soldiers with bullets in the chest and it was clear that he had been quite lucky. Well, insofar as someone who'd been shot could ever be 'lucky'. I tried to see the positive in this news because it was clearly there, but for some reason I couldn't feel relief. I felt numb.

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, I'll take you up to ICU now."

Mycroft came with me, but Lestrade was accosted by a nurse who was handing him a plastic bag full of Sherlock's bloodstained clothes. At first I assumed a mistake had been made, but then I remembered that these had now become evidence. I heard Mycroft calling for me and I turned and followed them.

It took a while for the surgeon to find someone who could tell us where Sherlock was and I could feel my patience slowly seeping away. I was on the point of storming my way around the ward in search of him, when suddenly a nurse appeared who was able to lead us to Sherlock's room.

I pushed through the door and quickly on towards Sherlock, my heart racing, desperate to at least see his face again. The first part of me to respond was the doctor, checking the readings on the various machines, reading the details on the fluid bags around him, frowning that the surgical tape over his cannula was slightly skewed, registering the chest-tube, the bandages, the drainage bags. It took me less than a second to understand exactly the condition his body was in.

Then the husband in me woke up, and I rested my forehead against his for a moment, feeling the warmth of his skin through mine, manually taking his pulse and running my fingers through his hair. I stroked his ear gently, in a way that always made him stir before. It didn't now. I hated seeing him this inactive. I fought tears for a moment before straightening and brushing his hair back once more.

I became aware that Mycroft was in the doorway, looking horrified. I occurred to me that he wasn't as used to seeing people in this condition as I was. Though to my mind, it could have been far worse, I was aware that the chest tube was an ugly and frightening thing.

"Come in, Mycroft. Come over here."

He did so, tentatively and he stopped a good few feet away from the bed.

"Look, it looks bad, but it's not. Well it is, but it's not as bad as it looks. He needs to stay completely still for a while, and for the time being they want his lungs being fed the air than having to work themselves. Anesthetised, he needs to have the tube. When they wake him up, he'll take over breathing for himself again."

"What if that doesn't work?"

"It will," I told him firmly. "Besides which, he only needs one and they're both still in there."

"At the moment."

I could feel my patience running out again, and I tried to remind myself that having an argument with Mycroft wouldn't do anything to help Sherlock right now. Even if it would amuse him to hear about it when he woke up.

I forced calmness.

"Mycroft, you've been up a long while. It might be wise for you to go and get some rest."

"You've been up all night too!"

"God, you're as bad as he is. Please, there's a lot to organise suddenly and I'm really going to need help with that."

His eyes flashed suddenly at the word 'organise'.

"What do you need?"

"God, I can't even think at the moment. Mostly I need to be here, but I need to pick up Scarlet at least today, and I'll need to sleep sometime. I'd prefer it if someone was here with him. Could you come back later today? If you're not working?"

"No, of course I'll be here."

"Thank you. If you can come back at three I can sort things out with Scarlet."

He nodded. "Of course." He glanced back at Sherlock, and I could see him struggling with the situation. He looked back to me and nodded again. "I'll be back at three."

oOo

The room was suddenly quiet, and as Sherlock would say, dull. I settled myself down for the duration. I wondered if I'd be able to sleep and attempted to do so in the visitor's chair, but initially Sherlock was being checked every twenty minutes so I was constantly interrupted and I was too tense anyhow.

I couldn't bring myself to talk to him, knowing that he couldn't hear me at the moment, but I felt I wanted to do something. I settled for pulling the chair forwards, and stroking his arm. Eventually the boredom got the better of me, and I started counting the hairs on his forearm.

It was getting towards twelve, and the fact that I'd missed breakfast and had no sleep was beginning to tell. I was beginning to wonder about heading down to the canteen, when a nurse came in to tell me there was a visitor for me. I followed her out to find Mrs Hudson just outside of the security doors to the ward.

"They wouldn't let me onto the ward, John. They said it was family only!"

"Yes, Mrs H. They have a more conservative interpretation of 'family' than we do. I'm sorry."

"It's OK, but I did want to get some lunch to you."

"Mrs Hudson, you're a life saver. They won't allow outside food in the ICU either. Let's find a bench outside."

"They won't let you eat! That's dreadful, John!"

"It's fine. They're only doing what they have to do to look after Sherlock."

"Well starving you doesn't seem so helpful!"

"It's fine, Mrs Hudson."

We wandered back out to the courtyard where I'd sat earlier that morning. It was busier now but we found an empty bench and sat down.

"Mycroft came in to see me after I'd taken Scarlet to school. He's working on a schedule for you, he's called everyone, Inspector Lestrade and Mike and Molly and we've all got our action stations. One of us will come in with food for you several times a day, and we're all down to either pick up Scarlet from school or be here while you do it, whichever you prefer. It would seem they won't let me or Molly in though, so I'll report back that it will have to be him."

She sounded so eager about all of this and I was moved. I was also pleased that Mycroft had given everyone something to concentrate on. I was jealous which was ridiculous; there was absolutely nothing I could do for Sherlock at this time and I wished I had the distraction of a practical job too. Mostly I was grateful though.

"I told Mycroft to get some rest! Lestrade should be asleep too."

"Lestrade's at work. We all want to help, John."

"I know."

"From what Mycroft was saying, they're going all out to arrest the shooter. When he's not at Scotland Yard doing that, he intends to be at my flat which we've made into our headquarters."

It hadn't occurred to me that whoever had shot Sherlock was still at large. For some reason this didn't bother me at all. It seemed a bit pointless trying to arrest him at this point. As far as I was concerned the damage was already done. I couldn't even feel anger towards him at that point. It was quite low on the list of my emotional priorities.

"Greg's going to burn himself out." I said quietly.

"I think he feels a bit responsible. I can't imagine how he could be though, not knowing how much Sherlock likes to run into danger all the time. But I think he does love him." She looked at me suddenly, alarmed. "Oh I didn't mean he loves him the way you do!"

I smiled. "No, I know Mrs H. I'm not worried about competition from Lestrade."

I finished my packed lunch and turned my attention to a thermos of tea she now produced. She watched me in silence for a while.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I needed all of that."

"Now are you sure you don't want me to pick up Scarlet?"

"Yes. I promised her. Thank you though."

"John, he will be..." She took a shuddering breath. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to ask. I know you don't know."

"No. But at the moment he's completely stable. Really stable; I've rarely seen anything like it. Of course Sherlock would do 'being in a critical condition' in the most brilliant way possible."

She smiled at me and I pulled her to me for a brief hug.

I watched Mrs Hudson leave and I wandered back onto the ward, where Sherlock was still completely motionless and completely stable.

I started counting his freckles until I was relieved by Mycroft. He came into the room and was again slightly startled by Sherlock's condition.

"I've known him since the day he was born, and I don't think I've ever seen his as quiet and still as that. It's... unsettling."

I understood what he meant. Sherlock regularly went quiet and still for hours when he was thinking. Sometimes he'd managed it for days. But it was the sort of stillness that holds a tension; the stillness of a coiled spring, and he'd go from that to fully active without seeming to pass through any stages in between. Occasionally when I've been suffering from insomnia I've watched Sherlock sleep. Even then he seemed energetic; often frowning, often tense. He is prone to sleep-talking and sleep-walking. And on one occasion, he's treated me to sleep-singing.

This was different. This was completely and utterly still. Not relaxed. Not anything. It was as if he'd simply been switched off, which, I supposed is what the drugs they'd given him had done.

"He is still in there, isn't he?" Mycroft asked quietly. I wasn't completely sure he wanted me to hear the question.

"Yes, Mycroft. Yes he is very much in there; there is nothing wrong with his brain and when they let him wake up, he'll be entirely back, probably straight away." He nodded, still looking at Sherlock, but he didn't look as if he quite believed me. "They might well wake him up as early as tomorrow. Certainly if he stays as stable as this."

He looked shocked. "Really? Is he ready for that?"

I shrugged. "I think he might well be. We'll see. Thanks for being here, Mycroft. I'll be back later on."

He nodded and pulled the chair back away from the bed. He sat down and peered at Sherlock from across the room.

I left him to it and headed out to find a cab.

oOo

I knew there was trouble at the school as soon as the door opened. Mrs Churcher was holding Scarlet's hand at the front of the queue, but didn't let her come out to me. As I wandered closer, she asked if I could wait so she could have a quick word. I agreed and Scarlet was released to me while the other children were sent out to their waiting parents.

Scarlet leapt into my arms. She's getting so big for this and I could feel my back creak under her weight. I didn't put her down though, and spent a few seconds just holding her closely.

"Is Sherlock OK?"

"Yes he's fine," I said instantly, and in my mind I heard Sherlock's voice telling me off for the lie. "He's doing well, but he's not awake yet. The doctors are making him have a good long sleep."

"That's good. He needs to sleep more. Well he needs to sleep more at night and less in the day."

"Yes, well, at the moment they want him to sleep so that he doesn't move or try to get up and make himself worse again."

"Could they tie him down?"

"Well they could, but it might be a bit cruel don't you think? This way he doesn't even know he wants to get up."

"Can I go and see him?"

I looked at her. She looked quite desperate. It wasn't a passing concern; it was a genuine love for her Other Dad.

"I don't know Scarlet..."

"Please!" She started crying. Not hard, not to get her own way, just grief at being kept away from him when she wanted him so desperately.

"OK, let's go and talk to Mrs Churcher, and go and get some dinner, and then we'll see."

I put her down and she dried her eyes. Mrs Churcher sent her on an errand to get purple paper from the school office and as soon as she'd gone she asked what was happening.

"Scarlet said her Dad wasn't well. She's been very tearful today and I just wanted to get an update if I could?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, I should have called the school. It's been a bit of a day." I found I was getting strangely tearful. I didn't like the idea that I'd done something wrong and left Scarlet to explain to people by herself. Nor did I want to go over everything again to this person who was little more than a stranger to me. She waited patiently for me.

"Scarlet's Dad... her other Dad, was shot last night..." I felt my voice cracking and tried to clear my throat. I was suddenly worried that this was the sort of thing that would happen way back when I was depressed. I tried to focus. "Sorry. He was operated on last night and he's in intensive care now. So Scarlet's slightly in the dark which isn't great, and neither of us were there when she woke up either, and that's not great."

"Was she alone?" she asked me with a frown.

"Oh no, no, our landlady lives with us, she has Scarlet all the time, I didn't leave her. But she's used to Sherlock and I being there."

She smiled at me, clearly relived that there was no welfare issue to sort out on top of all of this. "What can we do to help? The school I mean, if there's anything at all you need from us, please just say."

"Thank you. I don't know at the moment, I don't even know whether I should force Scarlet to come in if she's this stressed."

Scarlet reappeared at that moment and presented a bundle of purple paper to Mrs Churcher. She hugged her in response.

"Well, I like seeing Scarlet here," she told me, with her arm still around her, "so it's up to you really, obviously absences can be authorised, but we can make sure that Scarlet is looked after while she's here."

"OK, thank you." I stood up, feeling desperately tired. "Come on, Scarlet, let's go and get some dinner."

We said our goodbyes and walked back through the park. Scarlet seemed like her normal, cheerful self, and was generally chatty and calm throughout dinner. As soon as she had finished eating, she asked to see Sherlock again.

"Yes. OK, fine but you can't stay for long. They don't like children being on the Intensive Care ward, so you have to be very calm and quiet and good. OK?"

"Yes." She ran instantly for her shoes and coat. I wondered if this was the right thing to do, but clearly leaving her wondering wasn't working either.

She was quiet in the cab and became quieter as we got to the hospital, and she clung to my hand as I lead her onto the ward. There was a look of objection from the nurses at the station, but they didn't say anything.

"We won't stay long." I assured them, and I lead Scarlet into Sherlock's room.

Mycroft was in the same position he had been when I left him. He looked surprised to see Scarlet there with me.

"I'll just head out."

"Mycroft, would you mind staying and taking Scarlet back home in a bit? She wanted to see. She needed to."

He frowned but nodded. "I'll be just outside."

Scarlet was looking at Sherlock with the same look of shock that Mycroft had had earlier in the day. I took her by the hand and gently lead her into the room.

"This here is a machine that's helping Sherlock to breath at the moment so his lungs can have a rest to get better. The tube goes into his lungs."

She looked and watched the pump go up and down.

"This one here is giving him a drink straight into his blood, and they're using it to make sure he has the right drugs too." She nodded. "The one over there is putting some pain medication into him so that he's not in any pain."

"Like my Calpol."

"Yes, but this goes straight into his blood so it works faster."

"What's in that bag?"

"That's his wee. Sherlock doesn't have to do any of those things at the moment. He's just resting completely. OK?"

She nodded, her eyes still wide, drinking it all in. She clearly felt braver as she dropped my hand and went closer to his bed, and standing on her tiptoes, she looked at his face. Suddenly it became all too much for her and her and her face crumpled and she cried. I held her to me and let her have a good cry. After a few minutes she calmed and I looked at her.

"OK? Are you ready to go home now?"

She nodded. She was about to work away when she stood on tiptoes again to kiss Sherlock on the cheek. She was quiet and calm as she walked away and we met Mycroft in the corridor. He looked at me, concerned.

"John, are you sure you don't want me to stay here tonight? You look exhausted."

I wanted to respond that he did too, but he looked as calm and well groomed as he always did. "Yes, I'm not actually going to stay all night. They won't do anything and at this point there's little chance of a change overnight. But I'd like to be here for another few hours. I haven't seen his doctor since this morning and I want to get an indication of what their plans are."

"All right. Well, Miss Scarlet and I had better get back to Baker Street then." He smiled at her and he held out his hand to her. She took it and I watched them walk along the corridor, before going into Sherlock again.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I know sweet FA about medical stuff and even less about weaponry, so if these things are hopelessly implausible, please accept my apologies.**

**I have two other parts of this planned, but they're slow going. And angsty; why has this story been so damned angsty?**


	13. Shot 2

I left the hospital at about ten in the evening. I felt guilty, and started to regret my decision in the cab on the way home, but I knew that tomorrow would be a hard day, and I desperately needed sleep.

I was surprised to find a small tea-party going on in my flat. Mrs Hudson was there and she instantly put the kettle on for me, along with Mycroft and Lestrade. Lestrade was looking dreadful. Exhausted, glassy eyed and grey. He looked as if he couldn't have made it home even if he'd have wanted to. Mycroft, by contrast, was looking perfectly well and quite calm.

"Is there any further news?" he asked me.

No. No change." I sat down at the table with them. "But he's still nicely stable and they're going to try waking him up at some point tomorrow. I've made them promise to wait until I'm there. I'll go in after dropping Scarlet at school. Was Scarlet good on the way home?"

"Good as gold."

"She's asleep on the sofa now though," Mrs Hudson told me, giving me a cup of tea. "I'm sorry, John, but she asked to stay up and I didn't want to push her. She was asleep almost immediately after I'd wrapped her in a duvet."

"It's fine. I'll move her upstairs in a bit."

"Do you want me to go to the hospital?" Mycroft asked me.

"No, there's no need at the moment. He won't wake up and the nurses have assured me that they'll call if there's any change. You should go home and get some rest. You too, Greg."

They both looked slightly embarrassed.

"We've sorted it all out," Mrs Hudson told me. "Inspector Lestrade is going to stay in my spare room, and Mycroft can have the sofa up here when Scarlet's gone to bed."

I smiled. "There really is no need. I can call and update both of you. Really, you should go home and get some sleep. Especially you, Greg."

"I'm fine," he muttered. I got the impression I wasn't the first person to suggest he rested.

I looked at him, sat next to Mycroft. It felt odd to remember that they didn't really know each other, when I knew them both so well. I remember once I'd suggested to Sherlock that Mycroft might make a good partner for Greg. He'd laughed at me.

"Quite apart from the fact that Mycroft is barely fit for human company, let alone being someone's partner, I don't think either one of them is gay."

It surprised me for a moment that I hadn't given their genders the slightest thought when I'd been matchmaking them.

"Well, I think we all know that your gaydar isn't the most efficient in the world," I'd responded.

"Well I think even I could get those two right. Besides," he snuggled closer to me, "I got you right didn't I? Even when you weren't even sure."

"Hm, maybe. I can see why it took you so long though. You were probably confused because I don't bother with hair-gel."

"Shut up."

"I bet you spent hours going through my Marks and Spencer underwear thinking: maybe he isn't gay after all!"

"Shut up."

I tickled him under the rib and he squirmed. "I bet the fact that my dress sense is quite conservative…"

"Is appalling."

"… is _conservative_, really threw you off my big gay scent."

"Shut up. I was young."

"And stupid."

"That's a tautology. Everyone is stupid when they're young."

"You didn't used to think so. You used to be full of yourself." I kissed him. I can't remember what happened after that, but based on our usual form I'd guess he'd pulled me to our bedroom to bugger me senseless.

I smiled at the memory and offered a brief prayer that I'd get him back again. I looked over at Mycroft and Lestrade.

"Of course you're both welcome to stay if you want to. But I'll have Scarlet in with me, Mycroft, so you can have her bed. If you can stand the level of pink in her room."

"I don't want to put you out, John."

"No, she's likely to get in with me at some point in the night anyway. We might as well start as we're likely to go on."

"I'll change her sheets," Mrs Hudson said, getting up. "It's no trouble at all."

Exhaustion got the better of me and I got up and went to pick up Scarlet to carry her upstairs. She woke up.

"Daddy? I didn't think you were coming home."

"I am tonight."

"Is Sherlock the same?"

"Yes. He's the same. Come on, you can sleep in my bed."

I made her stop to use the bathroom, and then we snuggled together in my bed. I could hear the sounds of Mrs Hudson bustling in Scarlet's bedroom and I reminded myself that she was not our housekeeper, but then I reminded myself that there were extenuating circumstances tonight, and I couldn't possibly manage anything more than I was doing at the moment.

I heard Mycroft's heavy and calm tread up the stairs, the creaking of Scarlet's bed as he got into it, and then we were all asleep.

oOo

I slept soundly but I woke early. The clock was only showing five thirty when I decided I wasn't going to sleep again and I got up. I felt vaguely hopeful about today. I wanted to get the hard parts over with, but for some reason my optimism had returned and I was grateful for it. The house felt oddly asleep. It was very quiet and peaceful and I imagined all the people sleeping soundly in each room. My image was in fact wrong, and shortly after six Mrs Hudson appeared to see if I wanted breakfast.

"I've made tea already, Mrs H. You sit down and I'll make you a cup for a change."

"I wish you wouldn't, John. Sometimes I think all I can do is make tea and sandwiches, but other times I think that everything will be OK as long as I just keep doing those things."

"You sell yourself short, Mrs H. You can make an excellent cake too."

She smiled at me and accepted the tea. "That's part of the trouble, isn't it? Everyone wants something to do and there aren't enough jobs to go round."

"Martha, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything that everyone's doing at the moment. There's nothing that anyone can actually do for Sherlock, but all of your help is making a huge difference to me. I feel as stuck as you do. All I can do is be there, at the hospital and I know it's ridiculous because he doesn't even know I'm there at the moment. I came close to asking him to give me an airbag yesterday so I could take over breathing for him instead of the machine."

She smiled at me sadly and patted my hand. "I think he knows you're there."

I was fairly sure he didn't. Not while he was anesthetised, but I nodded at her all the same. "I do suspect that when he wakes up, the demanding sod is going to have us all run off our feet."

She smiled and nodded. She looked as if she was holding something back from me.

"What is it, Mrs Hudson."

"Well I don't like to ask, because it's all a bit private…" I frowned at her wondering what this could be. "I wonder if you could go and have a look at Inspector Lestrade. He was up a few times in the night being a bit poorly. He doesn't know he woke me because I didn't want to embarrass the poor man, but he looked awful yesterday."

I was already on my feet. "I'll go and have a chat with him now."

"He might not be awake yet."

"I'll bet you anything he is."

I wandered down and into Mrs Hudson's flat, taking the opportunity to fill a glass of water on my way through her kitchen. I knocked on the door to the spare room. There was a grunt in response.

"Sorry; I'll get up and out of your hair now," he said, struggling to sit up.

"You'll drink this before you do much else, Greg."

He looked up and was surprised it was me. "Sorry, John. God, was I really noisy in the night?"

"Noisy enough to frighten the life out of Mrs Hudson."

"Sorry, must have been something I ate."

"Really? I'm wondering when you last consumed anything that wasn't coffee."

He didn't answer but sat up and took the glass from me. He checked his watch and grimaced. "I'm going to be late for work."

"Greg, in my professional opinion you really shouldn't be going to work today."

"Really?" he sounded quite bitter. "Well in my _professional_ opinion I should be back on the streets now, trying to catch Sherlock's killer!"

It felt like he'd hit me. "Well, let's hope you're a good few years too early for that," I told him quietly.

He looked horrified when he realised his error. "God, John. Sorry."

"Greg, I'm not messing about here. If I tell you you need to be at home, or here resting, then that's what you need to do."

He shook his head, stubbornly and I sighed and sat down next to him on the bed and rubbed my forehead for a while.

"Greg, let me see your hands." He frowned but held them out for me. As I predicted they were shaking, and when I touched them they were cold. "Right. And I'm guessing you're dizzy, you haven't slept, you're clearly nauseous, you're aware that you've been having heart palpitations and you're slightly worried about that. Am I right?"

He didn't move, but at least he hadn't denied it. "And the other stuff," I went on. "You're having difficulty switching off the image of Sherlock being shot aren't you? In your mind, it's like he's dead. You feel that him being in hospital isn't quiet real. I would think you're struggling to concentrate and you have to ask people to repeat themselves regularly. You're struggling to finish sentences and you can't find the right words. Am I right?"

He didn't answer directly. He did at least start talking though. "It's stupid. It's not like it's the first time I've seen a colleague hurt. I've administered first aid before, I've been in other ambulances. It wasn't even that gory compared with some corpses I've seen."

"Have you ever seen someone shot through the chest before?"

"No. It's not as common as you might think."

"I think it depends on what circles you travel in. But yes, Greg, this was different. For whatever reason your body's reacted to it with shock and your mind has too. If you don't stop for a little while you simply won't get better. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about here! Now, isn't there someone else you can pass the case over to?"

"I already have. Dimmock's leading, a whole heap of people have volunteered. I just…"

"Want to be there. Well you can't be, so get over it."

"Yes," he looked at me, upset. "John, I've never paid him. I've never even looked into whether that would even be possible! I've just assumed and he's always turned up when I've asked."

"No he hasn't. He's said no to you before, I know he has. And I know it's pissed you off at the time. Don't go romanticizing him, Greg. He's not some self-sacrificing, public spirited angel. He's an arrogant, annoying, pain in the arse, and he will be when he wakes up too. Probably even more so because he'll milk being shot for all that it's worth." He gave me a slight smile and I sighed. "Look, Greg, please stay here. I can't cope with worrying about you on top of worrying about him, and to be frank, he's my priority so if you don't take care of yourself, no-one else will. Stay here and bake cakes with Mrs Hudson."

He nodded.

"Right," I said, standing up again. "Scarlet will be awake. You go back to sleep, then get up and drink some more water."

"And then bake cakes."

"Yes. Then bake cakes. I'll see you later."

Upstairs, Scarlet was indeed awake and up and Mrs Hudson had sorted her out with a bowl of cereal and some cartoons. Mycroft was up too, working on Sherlock's computer in the kitchen. I sat down with Scarlet.

"Right, Moppet, I'm going to take you to school today, but Mrs Hudson will probably have to pick you up. Is that OK?"

"Do I have to go, Dad? Please? I really don't want to and Mrs Churcher did say you could do one of those thingies and just tell them I'm not there…"

I was torn. She was clearly stressed but I knew that keeping her in routine was important. So was the feeling of knowing where she was and that she wasn't overly annoying anyone. I struggled to decide for a moment, so I didn't and I just pulled her onto my lap and cuddled her for a while. The fact that she stayed quiet and didn't resist made me think she was more stressed than she was letting on. I knew Mrs Hudson would be happy to have her, and there might even be a benefit to having a seven-year-old distraction in the house.

"OK. You can stay home. But lots of people will be here today, Mrs Hudson, Uncle Mycroft and Inspector Lestrade too. Do you remember Inspector Lestrade?" She shrugged. "Well you have to be very good for all of them, OK?"

"I will. I promise. Can I come to the hospital again?"

"No, not today." She opened her mouth to protest. "No, Scarlet, you can't, and you can't for a few days either. I promise that as soon as Sherlock is well enough I'll take you to see him but before that you have to stop asking OK?"

She stuck her bottom lip out but nodded.

"Come on, Scarlet," Mrs Hudson called her. "You help me pack a nice lunch for your Dad, OK?"

She did indeed go, and having nothing to keep me at home, I went to shower and get ready for another day at the hospital.

oOo

Nothing had happened. As I sat down in the chair next to Sherlock's bed, it was as if I hadn't been away at all.

Nothing continued to happen. I spent the first few hours barely retaining my patience, knowing that hospitals, particularly ICUs, could be busy and I knew I should be grateful that Sherlock wasn't taking up more of their time. A new doctor did come in to see us and explained that he would be waiting until the afternoon before waking Sherlock up, but he was paged before I could hear an explanation as to why that might be.

I grew cross and I wanted to shout at someone. Fortunately, Mycroft appeared at around lunchtime.

"There's no change, Mycroft, and no indication about why they're delaying, or when they might be ready to get the next stage over with."

"We should move him to a private room. A private hospital in fact."

"A private hospital? A _private_ hospital? How on Earth do you think that would help, Mycroft? What a ridiculous suggestion! Do they somehow have magic machines that stop people getting shot?"

I used the opportunity to have a give a heated tirade in defence of the NHS. I can't even remember what I said, but I do remember he was looking quite surprised by the time I'd finished.

"Sorry, Mycroft. I'm a little tense."

"It's fine. It might surprise you to know that I'm a big fan of the NHS myself. I've spent a lot of time ensuring that it doesn't tumble down in the past twenty years."

"But not for you and your family, heh?"

He looked embarrassed.

"Sorry," I said again. "Tense. But I don't want him moved right now. When he can talk for himself he can choose what he wants to do, but right now, I don't want him moved."

"That's fine. Of course."

"Is Scarlet behaving?"

He smiled broadly. "Oh yes! I can see why Sherlock likes he so much! She's quite… interesting, isn't she?"

"That's one word for it."

"We made cakes! All of us. Mrs Hudson helped Lestrade and Scarlet helped me!"

"It sounds like a nice morning." I was slightly jealous, but glad that the four of them were calming down.

"Here, she sent some for you." He handed across a huge Tupperware container filled with fairy cakes. "Inspector Lestrade said that baking cakes helped and to thank you."

"I didn't mean it to be taken literally."

"Either way, it helped. Scarlet wants to know if you can feed some to Sherlock through his tube."

I smiled. "Hm. Perhaps tell her he might appreciate a picture for the walls here."

"I will. Is there anything else you need?"

"Not that I can think of. Hopefully Sherlock will be a bit more lively next time you come in."

He glanced down at him, and some of the concern began to show in his face again. It passed quite quickly. He looked up at me and nodded briefly, then went on his way again.

I rubbed my face for a while, then picked up the Tupperware from where I'd rested it on Sherlock's legs, and headed to the nurses station. There was only one person there, remotely monitoring most of the patients and I realised that there must be a crisis or two going on somewhere and again regretted my impatience with them. The cakes were gratefully received though, and she assured me that she would ask the doctor to come in and see us as soon as he was available.

I went outside to eat my lunch, then came back to get ready for a couple more hours of waiting.

It was around three when the doctor appeared again. He introduced a nurse called Hazel, explained that she'd be waiting with my to monitor Sherlock, then he turned off the drip feed of the anaesthetic.

And that was it. He was gone again. I made a mental note to try to be a little more customer aware with the families of my own patients in the future.

Hazel was calm and professional though. She explained that we wouldn't see an instant reaction and I nodded, staring at Sherlock waiting for something to happen.

The machines started going first. For the first time in over twenty four hours there was an indication that Sherlock was human as his pulse started to increase and beat more erratically and his blood pressure started to fluctuate slightly. My own heart was in my mouth by now, and I reminded myself that all of this was normal, and should have been happening while he was under anaesthetic anyhow. He was just being… weird.

I wondered when Hazel would call Dr. What's-his-name back. I wanted the tube to be removed before Sherlock was fully conscious because I didn't want him to panic and choke. I wanted the machine off too, so that he didn't try to fight it. My panic increased as Sherlock began to twitch and move. I studied his face, waiting for that moment when he'd be more conscious than unconscious.

I was on the point of sorting the machines off myself when Hazel pressed the button to alert the nurse's station.

The doctor returned promptly. "That was quick," he commented, casting an eye over the various readings.

"He does that."

He looked over at me. "Do you want to help with this?"

I nodded, relieved. I made a note to learn the doctor's name. He turned down the resuscitation machine, and disconnected the tube at Sherlock's mouth. There was a couple of seconds of the rest of us holding our breath, and his pulse reading speeding up. I muttered at him to 'come on, get a move on.' I doubt he heard me but he took a slow, rattling breath anyway.

Then another, then another. I breathed out.

Then, quite suddenly, his eyes snapped open. They were wide and terrified and he thrashed on the bed.

My arm went over his shoulders instinctively and I stayed close to whisper to him.

"It's all right, Sherlock, it's OK, you're fine. Calm down and we'll get this tube out. Calm down, sweetheart, I've got you."

He continued to panic and thrash and he didn't seem to understand the instruction to blow to help with the tube. The doctor got it out anyway, and for the amount of fight that Sherlock was suddenly putting up, he got it out relatively painlessly.

Sherlock choked and dryly retchd and I held him down as gently as I could. His right hand was coming up to check his face and to pull at the bandage around his chest. I caught it before it did any damage and held on to it.

"Welcome back," the doctor said, smiling, as Sherlock started to calm down. "Can you tell me your name?"

"John Watson," Sherlock whispered.

"It's OK, I'm here," I told him. I squeezed his hand and stroked his head.

His eyes tried to find me while he continued to gasp and I could see the panic he was feeling. Among the fear I could recognise that he was in some pain, but I wanted to let him talk to me before we started on yet more medication.

He found me and focused. "John... I can't remember… can't remember…" He stopped and was reduced to gasping for breath. The blood-oxygen alarm went off and Hazel reached for an oxygen mask, which she handed to me. I held it over his mouth for a while and kissed his forehead.

"Sherlock, I need you to calm down. Breathe slowly. Slow down, OK?" His hand reached out for mine again so Hazel took over the mask, securing it with elastic straps around his head, and I took his hand.

"OK, you're doing well now. You're doing well. Just slow down. Don't breathe so deeply that it hurts."

I stroked his forehead slowly and slowly he calmed down, not looking away from me. He looked desperate and terrified. I kissed his forehead a few more times.

Eventually he calmed down and tried to pull the mask away. I checked his oxygen levels and pulled it away from his mouth slightly to let him talk.

"I can't remember anything!" He couldn't seem to talk above a whisper and I realised that the tube had bruised his vocal chords.

The nameless doctor frowned. "There's no head injury."

"OK, well let's start small," I said to Sherlock. "Do you want to have another bash at your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes. We're married. I love you."

"Yes, well, that's the important stuff covered. Do you remember about the case? You were working this week."

"Yes. Yes, they were… counterfeiters. I was with Lestrade. We were there… there were two… one had a gun… I saw… then nothing…"

I smiled at him and gently replaced the oxygen mask. "So in fact you have perfect recollection until you were unconscious. I think you're going to be fine, Sherlock."

He reached out for my hand again and I took it again. I leaned close to kiss his temple where there was a stray tear falling, then I whispered in his ear that I loved him. He squeezed my hand. I suddenly felt a crashing sense of relief. I had to turn my head away to hide my own tears for a moment.

"Sherlock, are you in pain?" the Doctor asked.

There was the merest nod and the word "yes," whispered into the oxygen mask. I nodded and the doctor adjusted the morphine levels on the drip-feed.

I looked back to Sherlock. "OK, do you think you could go to sleep for a bit? I'll stay here. I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't respond but didn't shut his eyes or look away from me. The nameless doctor nodded at me and left me with instructions to call if we needed anything or if anything changed. He left with Hazel following after him.

I stayed with Sherlock until I was satisfied that he was asleep, then I stood up to go and call home and let everyone know what was happening. Unfortunately Sherlock's eyes snapped open instantly and he gripped my hand again. I sat down again with a sigh.

He refused to release me for several hours until I explained rather desperately that I needed to go and relieve myself. His grip loosened slightly.

"I want to call home too, Sherlock. People are really worried about you." His grip tightened again and he frowned at me. "Sherlock, Scarlet is beside herself. She's being very brave, but I have to tell her what's going on."

He let go of me and nodded. I dashed off to the loos to take care of my most immediate concern, and then stopped in a corridor off the ward. I had a brief internal debate, and decided that it was probably fairest to call Mycroft first.

"John? What's happening?" He answered.

"He's awake, and he's breathing on his own."

There was the hugest sigh. I could imagine Mycroft sitting down and doing some staring.

"Is he…?" he didn't seem to know how to continue that thought.

"He's in pain, he's tired and he's very scared, but he's doing well. I can't talk long because he wants me back, are you with Scarlet?"

"Yes."

He put her on.

"Daddy? Is Sherlock better?"

"He's better than he was yesterday when you saw him, yes. He's awake now and he's breathing by himself, without the big machine."

"And weeing?"

I wondered why children would always fixate on the catheters. "Not yet, no. We're going to do one thing at a time, but at the moment I wanted you to know he's awake and he's breathing."

"Can I see him?"

"No, not yet, Scarlet. I promise that I'll bring you in as soon as I can, but he's not well enough yet. He will be soon I think though."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, not tomorrow. It's going to take a long while for him to get better and you'll have to be very gentle with him for a long time even when you can see him. But I wanted you to know he was awake."

"Did you eat my cakes?"

I smiled. "Yes I ate some of your cakes and shared the others with the nurses and doctors. They were delicious."

"I helped Uncle Mycroft. He wasn't very good."

"No. Well we have to remember that he's probably good at other things, don't we?"

"Yes Daddy."

"OK, put him back on."

"I think your daughter feels sorry for me, John."

I laughed. "Yes, I think she probably does."

"I'll be in later. I'll bring you some dinner."

"Thanks, but I don't think he'll let me leave again. I'm probably going to be here all night."

"I could take over for a bit?"

"I think he'd notice. Thank you though. I'd better go back, Mycroft. Just let the others know, OK?"

"Consider it done."

He hung up. I went back through the doors back to Sherlock's room to hold his hands and quietly talk to him through the night.

* * *

**Oops. Didn't expect to have this finished today. Must look into the rest of my life to work out what I've neglected.**

**Stay tuned for hot hospital sex.**

**Pip.  
**


	14. Shot 3

**OK, this is the fourth attempt at this chapter. I have written and rejected a different Sherlock POV, a John POV, and a third person POV.**

**You think at some point in the past five months I'd have learned not to promise something that I might not be able to deliver.**

**

* * *

**I watched as the clock ticked steadily towards visiting hours. I was aware that today was Friday. Having little else to concentrate on in the hospital room my awareness of time and dates was heightened. It would seem that minutes are substantially longer than I'd previously imagined.

I have now been in hospital for four weeks. The first week I was not really aware of anything, but I knew that John was with me fairly constantly, and I knew I didn't want him to leave me alone.

The second week I'd spent feeling quite sorry for myself but I gave that up as it became dull quite quickly. Dull, and also strangely competitive, as various other people seemed to be feeling sorry for me too. Lestrade particularly had pulled out all the stops. On one occasion he had panicked quite badly, and John quietly led him from the room and spent a ridiculous amount of long hospital minutes away from me, presumably with him.

After that, I started feeling sorry for John instead. It was somewhere around the middle of week two that he started looking exhausted and old. He is getting old, it's true, but I hadn't expected for such a transformation to happen in the space of a few weeks. I slowly developed a hypothesis that he may have found the incident of me being shot more emotionally straining than I'd have expected for an ex-army doctor. There were several worrying occasions when he'd developed some of the symptoms he'd had when he was ill. Particularly staring into space and failing to follow my conversations. More alarmingly for me, on a number of occasions I sent him off on various errands and he'd forgotten what I had wanted almost as soon as he'd left the room.

I had shouted at him to try to focus his mind, but it didn't seem to work, and the strain on my lungs caused me some pain.

He had promised he'd try to do better, but it hadn't really worked.

What did seem to help in the end was for me to be moved onto a general ward and we were suddenly on restricted visiting hours. John was required to leave at nine in the evening, and wasn't allowed back until eight the following morning. He suddenly started improving his attitude and his appearance, and at first I wondered whether it was because there were other people in the room causing him to make more of an effort, but then it occurred to me that he might just have needed a bit more sleep.

I wished he had just told me that he was tired. It would have saved an awful lot of concern on my part. Sometimes I don't think John cares about me at all.

There are four beds in my room on this ward, only three of which are occupied with long term residents. I have the bed by the window. Opposite me is Billy, a boy of nineteen who broke his thighbone in a motorcycle accident and is in traction. Next to him is Derek, an elderly gentleman who broke his pelvis when he slipped and fell in a supermarket.

Derek has regular visitors. His wife, Betty, is here as often as John is, and has already formed a friendship with Mrs Hudson who occasionally visits me but seems to spend all her time talking to them. In addition to this, he has three children; two middle aged women, both married, one with children and one without, and a middle aged son who is a vile specimen of humanity. He's married, but has regular affairs. His son, a rancid child of approximately ten is the apple of his father's eye. His grandparents are regularly told this beast's achievements, which all seem to be a celebration of mediocrity. They nod and smile and pat his head, but seem to save their genuine warmth for the children of their middle daughter who seem perfectly charming young creatures. Their granddaughter spent some time introducing her dolls to Scarlet last Saturday.

They seem well cared for. Overly cared for by the son who seems to be pushing a dreadful litigation solicitor at them every time he visits.

Billy, by contrast, almost never has visitors. His father came in once to nod in his direction before going outside for a cigarette. His mother stayed twenty minutes to explain to him a problem with the car which he'll need to fix when he's released from hospital. A young lady popped in once, with a card and a box of chocolates and news that the lads at the garage were missing him. His girlfriend, Shannon, appeared on one occasion, but she mostly just sulked in his direction. A bunch of three teenagers arrived at eight forty-five on Tuesday night with the news that they were on the way out to the pub, and they'd all have a drink on him. The most vocal of these was certainly already sleeping with Shannon.

Several comments about 'a couple of fags' had been said in our direction and though John had become tense, his general preference for when this happens is to ignore the culprit and to pretend not to hear so that is what we did. From what I could tell, Derek alerted a nurse and they were asked to leave. It felt odd relying on someone else to protect me from this sort of thing. I'd have been perfectly able to take them down a peg or two by myself.

As John left that day, Billy murmured an apology to him.

Other than these rare and brief occasions, Billy is alone. John, somewhat unexpectedly, seems to have taken a shine to him. He certainly makes sure he chats with him every day, and offers to pick him up anything he needs from the outside world. Though Billy's never asked for anything directly, John has brought him various things, books, magazines, food and drinks.

"Are you attracted to him?" I'd asked him once

"What?" The look of surprise on his face made me certain that the idea had never crossed his mind.

"You just seem to spend a lot of time caring for him, that's all."

"Well I spend more time caring for you, you stupid jealousy-box. I just feel sad that he's little more than a kid, and nobody seems to give a fuck that he's in hospital. It can be quite scary to be injured like that and he's on his own."

I'd huffed and sulked for a while, mostly for the jealousy-box comment, but I also spent some time thinking about John. I saw the room as having three occupants: an elderly man with a broken pelvis, a young man with a broken leg, and me. John, who I would have expected to have more interest and understanding about the purely medical issues, saw three people in the room: two who were cared about, and one who was not. I don't know what he expected to achieve with these short term and relatively insignificant acts of care and when I'd finished sulking I told him so.

"I don't expect to achieve anything. I don't expect any return for myself or anyone else. I just think it's a nice thing to do."

"It just seems like a waste of energy, that's all."

"Well, I spend enough of my time caring for you with little return. Do you think I should stop wasting my energy in that direction too?"

I thought about this. "I think that it might be an interesting experiment to see whether increasing the attention you give to me causes a greater return or not. Then you'd know."

"Couldn't I reduce the amount of attention to see if there was a diminished return? Surely that would give me the same answers."

"I have been shot, John." I reminded him.

"Well, you're hardly the first person in the world to be shot. Hell, you're not even the first person in this family to be shot. You'll live, you'll get over it."

I thought this was most unsympathetic of him and I would have sulked, but he started to tell me an interesting tale he'd heard from Lestrade involving Anderson and a crate of slightly rotted eels and he had me laughing again.

I would have thought that after twelve years the buzz I get from laughing with John would have diminished slightly, but if anything, it's even stronger now. I still like making him blush too. In addition to these things, I also like that exasperated look he gives me sometimes, occasionally accompanied by him hitting me with a magazine or swiping me to my head that almost always ends with kissing and/or sex. I find I'm actively looking for ways to irritate him now.

I told him about this after dinner one evening and he looked at me as if I was mad.

"But you've always irritated me. Sherlock, you really, _really _don't need to make a special effort there!"

I do believe that conversation had also ended with kissing and sex so it was still worth telling him.

I feel it's worth pointing out that he does things that irritate me too. For example, I know that at eight o'clock precisely, he'll come through the ward doors, say good morning to everyone, walk directly to my bed, give me a peck of a kiss on the lips, then sit down, and start handing me the various treats that had been sent to me from Scarlet, Mrs Hudson, and anyone else choosing to use him as a delivery system. Scarlet is a get-well-soon card-making machine; I've had one a day since I've been here, along with other general pictures, biscuits, 'well done' certificates she's earned at school and five short and poorly-spelt letters running to three pages each. I'm very concerned that I'll lose some of these when I pack to come home. Mrs Hudson often supplements the hospital food with her own creations. Though she isn't a good cook she's far superior to whoever they have working in the hospital kitchens, who doesn't seem to have mastered 'open can, heat food' successfully.

So John will come into the room and follow this exact routine. Every day. The fact that he is a creature of habit doesn't overly disturb me. The fact that he'll act as a packhorse doesn't bother me either. I do find the fact that he's so damned self-sacrificing slightly difficult to stomach. He must know that if our positions were reversed, I would almost certainly be late, forget the things I was supposed to bring him, and more likely get distracted on the way to the hospital and not turn up at all. But I've become used the fact that John is a better human than I am and I've stopped seeing this as a concern and have just started enjoying it.

No, the thing that really irks me is the peck of a kiss.

I have at various times told him that this is an act that I find offensive, but he fails to take me seriously.

"Offensive? It's a kiss, Sherlock! How on earth can it possibly be offensive to kiss you?"

"If it was an actual kiss, it wouldn't bother me remotely. It's not though; it's a taster of a kiss. It's nothing. It's barely any time, barely any contact, it's nothing but a tantalising reminder of what else could be."

He had stared with his eyebrows raised for a while, and then laughed. "Really? Sherlock, do you really expect a full on passionate kiss every time I leave for work in the morning?"

"Yes, why not?"

He'd laughed again, then taken a while to think of an answer. "Well, a good reason might be this; if I snog you good and proper, I'll be tenting for the entire tube ride to the hospital."

I have to admit, I hadn't thought of this. "I just think that if you're going to kiss me, I should get a proper kiss, that's all."

"So a proper kiss, or no kiss at all is what you're after."

I'd gone back to the newspaper feeling that the outcome of this conversation might not go the way I'd hoped. Fortunately, John had forgotten almost instantly, and he continued the habit of pulling me towards him to give me a brief, placeholder kiss before he left for work in the morning. Because my body sometimes reacts in an uncontrollable way, I continued leaning towards him for that kiss.

I'd then be irritated by both of us several minutes later.

The visiting hours started, and the doors opened. He walked in chatting with Betty as if they'd known each other years. I wondered if they were swapping knitting patterns. He said good morning to Derek, and to Billy, and then he came over, kissed me lightly on the lips and sat down with his bags.

I rolled my eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" he'd asked.

"Nothing."

He'd sighed. "Are you going to start sulking at me this early? Really? Because visiting hours are thirteen hours long and I'm not sure I can be bothered to stay for thirteen hours worth of sulking."

"Yes you will."

He'd started rooting around in his bag.

"John, could you do me a favour before you get stuff out?"

"Yeah, what do you need?"

"Could you pull the curtains round the bed?"

He'd frowned but got up to do that. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

"Mm." I waited until he got the curtains all the way around.

"What is it? Are you OK?"

I lowered my voice. "I need you to kiss me."

He frowned. "Why do you need me to shut the curtains for that?"

"Because you haven't kissed me properly since I was shot. I assumed that it was because you didn't want people seeing."

"Well you were wrong."

"So what is it then?"

He rolled his eyes. He also leaned over the bed and kissed me. It was part way between a nothing-kiss and an actual kiss. As he pulled away I grabbed his t-shirt collar and pulled him back towards me to show him how it should be done. I took his lower lip into my mouth and sucked it gently. I licked along the inside of his upper lip and felt him give a small, shuddering sigh.

I didn't release him but played with my tongue inside his mouth, tempting his to come forward into mine. It did, and he shifted so more of his weight was on the bed and finally, with his elbows either side of my head, he kissed me properly. I was, for a moment, completely absorbed by his taste and the feel of his breath on my face.

He finally pulled away and looked at me. "OK? Better now?"

"Substantially."

He glanced down the bed. "You see, now this is why sedate little kisses are somewhat better in this environment."

I glanced down too, to where the thin hospital blankets were doing absolutely nothing to mask my predicament.

"John?" I whispered to him.

"Mm?" He whispered back.

"It appears I want to have sex with you."

"Yes. I can tell."

"John…"

"I'm not having sex with you in a room full of people."

"There's a curtain round us."

"No. Think of something else. Think of something unpleasant."

I shut my eyes for a moment. I opened them again. "I can't."

"Of course you can."

"Nope. Every single one of my thoughts involves doing something to you that you wouldn't approve of while we're in a hospital room. Or at all."

"Sherlock! For God's sake, control yourself. I know, Scarlet sent a letter, read that."

"I absolutely refuse to read a letter from Scarlet with a massive, great erection."

"Well I absolute refuse to have sex with you with three other people in the room."

"Oh there's a curtain round. They probably think we're already having sex now."

He blushed. I adored him.

"John, please help me! They're going to be bringing the drugs round in half an hour! Nurse Sophie is very young; I'll probably scare her to death!"

He looked over at me and I could see the sympathy beginning to show in his face. He sighed and I knew that I'd got him. He got up, and leaned very close to my face and whispered even more quietly. "No noise. If you make so much as a whimper, I will kill you." His hand started creeping down the bed.

I chanced my luck.

"Any chance of… you know…" he frowned. "Mouth!" I whispered, vexed by his lack of imagination.

He rolled his eyes, but I knew that he'd do it. I was grateful that I'd been allowed to start showering properly this week.

John was clearly agitated. I probably should have felt guilty about this, but his anxiety seemed to cause him to be slightly rougher and quicker than he would usually be and this was delightful. He rubbed his tongue hard and fast over my tip and I came very close to breaking my 'no noise' embargo. As he had my penis in his mouth I didn't want to test his resolve on this issue. I held onto the blankets tightly and breathed hard. But quietly.

I didn't think it would take me very long. Particularly when John reached down and stroked his hand up my calf and the back of my knee. I tried very, very hard but a very small whimper forced its way out. Fortunately John didn't hear me.

What he did hear was the door of the ward being opened and clipped back, and a trolley being pushed into the room. Next there was the cheerful voice of Sophie wishing Derek a good morning and asking after Betty's heath.

John had frozen at this point, which was causing me a certain amount of discomfort. I reached under the blanket and ran my fingers through his hair, desperately hoping he'd continue.

He did so and I sighed. Quietly.

I could hear Sophie verifying Derek's identity, drugs and dose. I desperately hoped for a pharmacy error that might buy us an extra five minutes while they flapped about the problem. Alas, everything was as it should be. She moved on and John stopped again. As she heard him bidding Billy a good morning, he started again, more frantically than before. I thought that holding the moan back might actually suffocate me.

By mutual agreement, I have never yet come into John's mouth. We had experimented early on, but he had struggled and gagged, and I hadn't forced the issue. I usually signalled by pulling his hair so he would move away. I had a moment of worry that this might not be practical in this particular situation. On the other hand I didn't want to upset John. I was on the point of signalling when I heard Sophie asking whether there was anything else Billy needed.

John froze again, as did I.

We heard Billy reply. "Er, yes… my toes are feeling a bit sore."

I knew his toes were poking free of the cast and I listened to her claiming that she couldn't see anything wrong. John went back to his business, desperate and hurried.

"I think it's the middle one. It's really throbbing. I mean, it's sore."

"This one here? I can't see anything."

"No, not that one. Maybe the one next to it."

"I really can't see anything. It's certainly not red."

"Could you look again?"

I stopped listening at that moment as I came and dissolved into a sea of ecstasy. I believe I had managed to be completely quiet, but it suddenly occurred to me I was still in John's mouth.

"I really need to go and sort Mr. Holmes' drugs out now, but I'll come back in a second."

"No! Please, it's really hurting!"

At this point, John quickly got out from under the blankets, and sat down heavily on the visitor's chair.

"Actually, it's fine now." Billy said. "The pain's completely gone."

"Well, good." Sophie replied. "Mr Holmes, can I come in?" She didn't wait for an answer but pulled the curtain back slightly and came in. "Good morning, Dr Watson." He nodded at her and smiled.

She glanced at me with a frown. "Are you OK, Mr Holmes? You look a little flushed."

"I'm fine. Fine."

"You're breathing heavily, are you in pain?"

"No, no pain. I'm perfectly well."

Most of the medical staff here have developed the habit of asking John to verify any statements I make and she turned to him. "Has his breathing been erratic since you got here?"

John smiled again, then swallowed, shuddered and looked at her. "No, he's fine. I'll keep a close eye on him though."

"OK, well, I'll leave him in your hands then."

"I think he'd prefer that," I commented, while he scowled at me.

She handed me a number of pills, which I dutifully swallowed, and then she took her drug cart away.

I looked over at John. He looked cross. "I love you," I told him.

He turned away and glared out of the window. Billy was lying still in his bed with his headphones on and his eyes closed. He was blushing bright red.

"You know," I continued, "I think that Billy child isn't without some observational skills of his own."

John grunted.

"John…" he didn't turn around but became marginally less tense. "Thank you for taking good care of me."

He didn't turn around but his reflection in the window smiled at me. "I wonder," he said, "whether you would be so kind as to take such good care of me too?"

"What? Now?" I was slightly shocked. "John, I've just been shot!"

* * *

**I'm not sure what's coming next, but as I'm looking after a poor poorly child today, I suspect it won't be quite as fast as usual.**

**Pip.**


	15. Lestrade

_This one is set about a month or so after Toys. They're still living in John's flat._

John and Sherlock were together on the sofa. John was reclining, watching the TV with his legs stretched out in front of him, and Sherlock was lying on his back with his head in John's lap, his knees bent so that he could fit. He was reading a book. It was the evening and Scarlet was in bed and the two of them were relaxed and comfortable together.

Sherlock put his book down and turned his head to look at the documentary John was watching. It looked boring.

He looked up and slowly raised his finger to poke John on the chin.

"Stop it." John told him.

Sherlock quietly repeated the poke.

"Sherlock, stop it!"

The third time the finger slowly crept upwards, John's hand shot out and grabbed it. He pushed it back down to Sherlock's torso and held gently held it there. He didn't take his eyes from the screen.

"Don't start something you know you won't win," he said.

"I'm bored." Sherlock grumbled.

John ignored him.

"I said, I'm bored!"

"And why is that my problem?"

"It's your problem because you love me. You live to keep me happy. That means you have to keep me entertained."

"You love me too. Shouldn't you be keeping me happy?"

"You're not bored."

"Bored isn't synonymous with unhappy."

"Isn't it? It should be."

He lapsed into silence for a few minutes. He slowly raised his free hand and flicked John's chin.

John moved fast. He pushed himself up and Sherlock away from him while reaching down and tickling Sherlock hard under his arms.

"No, no! Stop it!" Sherlock yelped between his giggling.

"I don't think so."

Sherlock scooted to the other end of the sofa and curled into a defensive ball, and John pursued him, tickling him over his ribs and around his neck.

Sherlock was completely overcome, struggling to breath through his laughter, tears streaming down his face. He was utterly unable to move his hands fast enough to fend John off.

"Uncle! Uncle! Please stop it! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

"What won't you do again?" John asked, not stopping.

"I don't remember! Anything! Everything! Just please stop!"

John stopped. He didn't move back though. He felt Sherlock's breath hitting his face for a few seconds, then he leaned forward and kissed him. He sucked Sherlock's tongue into his mouth. He played with his lips and teeth and tongue for a while.

Sherlock slipped his hands under John's t-shirt and started stroking and caressing John's back. John started undoing Sherlock's shirt buttons. When they stood up they moved together and their lips didn't break apart.

Sherlock moved away to slip John's t-shirt off.

"I guess I win after all," he said quietly.

"Shut up you arrogant bastard," John murmured back through his kisses.

"You like this arrogant bastard."

When John sucked his lower lip in response, Sherlock knew he was right.

John's hands went up into Sherlock's hair and he gently scratched down over his scalp and neck. He leaned back to look at him and he pushed the hair away from Sherlock's eyes. He didn't say anything but started kissing him again.

Sherlock's hands scratched down John's back. He stuck his fingers into John's waistband, then ran them round to the front to unbutton his fly. He ran his hand over John's firmness, then grabbed his hips and pulled him into him.

John rested his head against Sherlock's neck and breathed a long sigh. He looked up and started kissing along Sherlock's neck and jaw. He sucked Sherlock's ear and this time Sherlock sighed.

The noise of the intercom buzzing interrupted them, but it took them a moment to recognise what it was.

"Are you expecting someone?" John asked with a frown.

"I don't live here," Sherlock pointed out, and he resumed kissing John's hairline.

The intercom buzzed again, and John pulled away to go and answer it.

"No, no, no, _no!_' Sherlock whined, following him.

John rolled his eyes and pressed the speaker button. "Hello?"

"Is this John Watson?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's… It's Greg. Greg Lestrade. Inspector Lestrade. Can I come up?"

"No!" Sherlock mouthed to him.

"Yes, of course," John replied, pressing the unlock button.

He went back into the lounge, did up his trousers and put his t-shirt back on.

"Why did you invite him up?" Sherlock demanded, following him.

"Because he wouldn't be here if he didn't really need something. Straighten yourself up and open the door."

Sherlock reluctantly did up three of his shirt buttons and stomped back to the door. He opened the door just as Lestrade was walking out of the lift.

"Sherlock?" he asked with a frown. "Are you still staying here?"

"Yes. Why are you here?"

"I… um… I…" he trailed off.

John appeared behind Sherlock.

"Greg? What's up? Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Yes. Catherine's left me. Well, technically she asked me to leave." He looked at John. "I think I was hoping you could put me up for a night."

"Oh, Greg, mate! I'm so sorry. Come in, of course come in." John pulled him into the flat and guided him through to the lounge. "I'll get you a drink."

When John came back into the lounge, Lestrade was sat in the armchair, looking lost and confused. Sherlock was sat on the sofa, staring at him in a disappointed fashion, as if he was a new puzzle that wasn't quite complicated enough.

John handed them both an open bottle of beer.

"Thanks," Lestrade said.

"What's this?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a beer."

"I don't drink beer."

"Learn." John turned back to Lestrade. "What happened? I had no idea things were bad!"

"No, I don't think I did either. Or maybe I did. Maybe I just didn't really notice."

Sherlock snorted into his beer but he covered it with a cough and put his bottle down.

"Is there no hope?" John asked. "Have you thought about counselling? I mean, is this, tonight just a break?"

"No. She's clear. I suggested Relate, but she says she's tried hard enough for long enough. She doesn't want to try any more. She says she's spent too much time on her own while I've been working too long. She wants a divorce." He looked towards the window and stared for a bit.

"She's having an affair," Sherlock informed them.

"_Sherlock!_" John glared at him.

"Do you think so?" Lestrade asked.

John frowned at Sherlock and shook his head slightly.

Sherlock ignored him. "Yes. There's no other reason for her to end it now. Nothing's changed with you. You're working the same stressful, low-paid job, for the same ridiculously long and anti-social hours that you have been for the last twenty years. So something's changed with her. What could that be? At some point when you haven't been around, she's found someone else who is around."

Lestrade looked miserable. "She's told me so often that she wants me to scale down. She wants me… she _wanted_ me around more often. I tried. Well, I thought I'd tried. I didn't manage to be at home more often, so perhaps I hadn't really tried. Maybe she was right." He closed his eyes and rubbed his head.

"Greg," John asked him softly, "if you were to go back today, would you try to be there more often? Would you be able to? I mean, I've seen how dedicated you are to your job. Could you drop it for Catherine?"

"I don't know. I want them both."

"It might be that you can't have both."

"No, I know. I don't know. I just don't know."

"I think," John said slowly, "that if the answer was 'yes, I could leave my job for Catherine', then you'd know. You'd be sure."

Lestrade bit his lip. "Yes. I think you might be right." He sighed. "It's horrible though. I mean, I still love her."

"I know. But that might not be enough. She might need more."

"Yes." He sat back and put his hand over his face for a while. He sniffed and looked back at John and Sherlock. "Sorry, this must be dull for you."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed.

John smacked him on the leg. "It's fine," He told Lestrade, firmly. "You can stay here as long as you need, you can borrow anything you need. It's fine."

"Thank you."

"The sofa's not too uncomfortable and I've got a sleeping bag I can dig out."

"Thank you. Wait a minute, if I'm sleeping on the couch, where will Sherlock sleep."

"I'll sleep in John's bed."

"Oh, OK. Then where will John sleep?"

John shut his eyes in a wince. Sherlock stared, his eyes bulging at Lestrade's stupidity. While Lestrade looked at them both sat there together on the sofa, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind a penny dropped.

"Oh! Oh, OK! Shit! OK. Oh…"

Neither of them could help smiling at him.

"Sorry. Sorry, I always thought John was…"

"Straight?" Sherlock finished.

"Well yes, but also he seemed…"

"Not to be interested in me that way?"

"Well yes, the other guys wondered but I thought he was…"

"Not a complete lunatic who would embark on a relationship with someone who was an absolute shit?"

"Yes. That."

"Turns out he's none of those things. And conveniently he's also a good lay."

John choked on a mouthful of beer. "Sherlock, stop it!"

"What? It's true. You should be flattered."

Lestrade stared at them, amused. He suddenly took in their ruffled hair and crumpled clothing. "Oh. Oh, shit! I've clearly interrupted something. I'm sorry; I'll leave."

"Yes, that would be nice."

"No! Lestrade, ignore him, please. It's fine, it's all fine."

"Will I still get sex tonight?"

"I don't know, Sherlock, but considering I'm really tempted to fling you out on the street, I wouldn't think so!"

Sherlock flung himself backwards and pouted.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I'm really, really sorry about him."

"No it's fine. I know what he's like. I have to wonder if you're completely insane though."

John smiled. "No. I don't think I am. He has… other, more hidden strengths that make up for the complete shit-ness."

Sherlock smirked and Lestrade blushed.

"Oh for heaven's sake! I didn't mean sex!"

"Sorry," Lestrade mumbled.

"I'm not," Sherlock grinned.

"Right, OK," John said, getting up, "I think that's more than enough conversation for one evening. I'll find you that sleeping bag, Greg, and then I'm going to bed. You," he nudged Sherlock with his foot, "are welcome to join me if you can be vaguely polite and pleasant for a bit." He left the room.

"He has a very nice arse," Sherlock said to Lestrade, conversationally.

"Yes. Yes I'm sure that if you like… men's arses, John's is a very nice one."

"Greg, I'm sorry about Catherine. I mean it. I've only been with him a few months and I don't know how I'd feel if he didn't want me there any more. So I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

John came back in, laden. "Here; sleeping bag, pillow, spare toothbrush. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, this is all very kind of you. Thank you. I'll be out your hair tomorrow, I promise."

"It's fine. See you tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Sherlock sat there for a while, looking uncomfortable. After a moment, he spoke. "OK, I don't mean this disrespectfully to you, but I'm going with him."

"OK."

Sherlock darted out of the room.

Lestrade undressed, got into the sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling, thinking that the world was so much more complicated and confusing today than it had been yesterday.

oOo

John already had his eyes closed when Sherlock got into bed next to him. He wasn't so much pretending to sleep, as very eager to be asleep quite soon.

Sherlock ignored this and pulled him bodily towards him, wrapping long arms firmly around John's chest, and for added security he wrapped his legs around his John's knees too. He buried his face into the back of John's neck.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" John asked.

"Nothing. Don't know what you mean."

"I'm feeling a touch… constricted."

"Tough."

"No, what's wrong with you?"

There was a pause. "I don't want you to leave me."

"OK, well, I have no intention of leaving you. Now could you please let me breathe a bit?"

"I work long hours. Usually anyway. I work antisocial hours too. The money isn't great. Well, not always. The money is erratic anyway. I'm not a good choice for you. Not for anyone, really."

"Well it's all fine, Sherlock, I don't need all of those things from you. What it's critical to remember is that I am not Catherine, and you are not Greg. We're different people. We'll have our own problems and our own rocky patches, but just because this has happened to them, doesn't mean that it will happen to us too."

"Statistically, this relationship is doomed for failure. Most relationships end. Almost all of them."

"Oh well, in that case you'd better leave now."

Sherlock's grip tightened slightly.

"Look, stop it, Sherlock. If you start thinking about all the bad things that might happen to you every day, you might as well not get up in the morning. We might not work out. We might not, that's true. But we might. And I personally think that it's worth the risk, and we might as well enjoy it as long as it does last and we might as well hope that that will be forever. So do you think you could calm down a bit?"

"Mm." There was another long pause. "John. I think I should tell you now, that I don't think I could give up the work. I'm sorry. I love you, I honestly love you more than I think I could love any other person I could even imagine, but I can't imagine not doing the work. I think it would probably kill me."

John wriggled and turned with difficulty, until he was facing Sherlock, and stopped nose to nose with him.

"I know that, Sherlock. That's why I'll never ask you to do that. If I ever ask you to stop working, I will have let you down." He sighed. "OK?"

"OK." Sherlock frowned for a moment. "I am still a complete shit though."

"I keep telling you, you could just try not being a complete shit."

"Yes, but let's assume that's not going to happen. Do you think you can cope with that?"

John grinned. "Yes, like I say, there's other stuff that makes up for it."

Sherlock grinned too. "You _were_ talking about the sex, weren't you!"

And a few kisses later, they were back to where they had been as if they hadn't been interrupted at all.

* * *

**Right, sorry this one has been so delayed and sorry that it's short too. I've had a week where both work and family needed 100% commitment and I've been fairly exhausted. On the other hand, it was nice to prove to myself that I could give them the focus they need when they need it.**

**Sorry for the switch to 3****rd**** person. Only not really sorry; it's just so much easier and it brings me more joy to write in this voice. I may or may revert to 1****st**** person for other chapters. **

**Please, please, please review. I really, properly love reviews. I also intend to go over previous prompts to see what I've missed.**

**Pip xxx  
**


	16. Double Date

_Assume this is a couple of weeks after 'Lestrade'. I have to admit I'm getting a bit hazy about my timeline…_

_Disclaimer - I am not a Psychiatrist, Psychologist, nor a Neurologist. Everything herein is based on a very little Google research, and from watching a couple of documentaries._

_

* * *

_Sherlock had reluctantly agreed to go to dinner with John, Mike, and Mike's wife, Jane. John had started off pleased at the prospect of a night out, but as the evening in question drew near, he became slightly concerned about the end result of taking Sherlock into polite company might be.

Mike had noticed that John was getting slightly anxious, and he assured him that he was quite prepared to put up with anything Sherlock might come out with. He also shared the fact that Jane could occasionally be slightly bullish about some subjects too, and that if the worst came to the worst, they could just escape to the bar and leave the other two to it.

On the day itself, Sherlock appeared to be behaving relatively well. He was calm and reasonable. He was pleasant. He offered to dry the dishes and nip to the shop when they ran out of milk.

"What's going on?" John had challenged him as they were getting dressed for dinner.

"What? Nothing."

"You're being pleasant again. Last time you were this pleasant you were playing a game. You were trying to seduce me."

Sherlock smiled. "Maybe I'm just in a good mood."

"No, I simply can't believe that you're in a good mood today. You're going out. You hate going out. You're trying to lull me into a sense of security about something aren't you?"

"No, not at all. Maybe I just have a strong feeling that wicked things will be going on in London tonight and I'll be required to work. Remember you did say that the work was allowed to come first."

"Yes, I remember, Sherlock."

"Because you promised I could leave."

"Yes I did promise that, could you help me with my tie?"

"Mm." He stood in front of John and tied his tie for him. John stared into his eyes as he did this. When he'd finished, he leaned in for a kiss. He caught the slightly guilty look in Sherlock's eye.

"I can't believe you're relishing the idea of rushing off and leaving me on my own this evening."

The guilty look deepened slightly and Sherlock turned away.

"It's the work, John. You know I can't control or predict it."

"No, but you can call Lestrade and ask him to make up some lie to get you out of a date with your partner and his friends."

"I wouldn't!"

"You would! And what's more, you did!"

Sherlock frowned and thought about the best answer to this. "I wouldn't do something like that," was what he opted for.

John stared at him open mouthed. "I can't believe you'd stand there and lie to me like that! I know you did! I called him earlier to ask that if he could possibly do without you, he wouldn't call."

"I can't believe he told you!"

"What? You can't believe he's more loyal to me than he is to you? And, let's not deflect this onto Lestrade! You're the one who asked in the first place and you're the one who lied to my face about it!"

"That? Oh that was a calculated response. If you were bluffing I could hardly admit to it could I?"

"Look, you said you'd come. Do you think you could see your way to pretending to enjoy yourself too?"

"I'm not sure my acting skills could run to that."

"Oh, this is going to be a terrible mistake, isn't it!" John sat down on the bed, looking tired.

Sherlock looked at him with a frown. "This really matters to you, doesn't it?"

John sighed. "Yes. Yes this matters to me. I know it's silly, I know it shouldn't, but I like the idea of being with you with my friends. Strange as it might seem, Sherlock, I am actually quite proud of you. There is an element of me that wants to show you off."

"Me? Why?"

"Because… well I don't know, Sherlock, because there's a stupid, ridiculous part of me that likes to strut about thinking 'look what I caught'. Yes it's childish but it is what it is."

"Oh." Sherlock absorbed this for a moment.

"You didn't think that I would be proud of you?"

"No, no, it's not that, of course you would. It's just… it wouldn't in a million years occur to me to want to show you off to my friends."

"Well no."

"What?"

"Well, for one thing, you don't have any friends, for another, I'm a middle-aged, ex-army doctor with a randomly recurring limp and various other mental health problems. I'm not exactly brag-worthy."

Sherlock looked slightly confused, but he didn't say anything.

"Look, get a move on, we'll be late otherwise." John patted Sherlock on the arm and got up to go and organise Scarlet.

Sherlock was subdued and pensive in the cab ride to Mike's house. Scarlet was not. John listened for twenty-five minutes as she told him how Sophie and Emily were her best friends in the whole world, and they'd been on holiday last year and they'd ridden on ponies and swam in the sea, and they were very beautiful and how she loved them more than anyone in the whole world. John was absolutely aware that she'd never met the girls in question, and wondered when, if ever, she'd stop telling such obvious lies.

As they pulled up in the curb she leapt up, squealing "We're here! We're here!"

John turned to Sherlock. "She's never going to sleep tonight, is she? Oh this is a terrible idea."

Sherlock squeezed his arm. "She'll be fine. Don't worry, we'll have a lovely time. She'll be looked after by this wonder-babysitter Mike talks about, and I'll behave." He smiled and kissed John. "I promise I'll behave."

They got out and John waited as Sherlock paid the cabbie.

"You're doing that thing again where you're being too nice."

"No, what I'm doing right now is giving a demonstration of how pleasant I can pretend to be when I'm with your friends."

"Mike knows you, remember."

"Then I'll pretend to Jane who will think I'm lovely and Mike will think you've made me into a better person. Come on, let's get Scarlet settled."

He took Scarlet's hand, lead her along Mike's garden path and knocked smartly on the door. John followed, nervously, behind.

Scarlet met her 'best friends in the whole world' for the first time and instantly hid behind John's legs. Sophie hid behind Mike. Anne-Marie, the babysitter, who's whole demeanour spoke of her competency, shook hands with John and Sherlock and started organising the children. Scarlet appeared to love her immediately.

"Come into the kitchen," Mike told them, "We'll have to wait for Jane for a few minutes, and I find it's best to leave Anne-Marie to it all. Are you OK, Sherlock? You look a bit concerned."

"What? Oh, no. I've just never seen five children contained together. It's… odd. Will that girl be OK with them?"

"Oh she'll be fine! You should see the nursery at drop off time. Absolute bloody chaos! Sorry for the delay. I have no idea why it takes her so long to get ready. One of the advantages of your set up, I'd imagine, is that you don't have to wait while one of you chooses between sixteen pairs of shoes."

"Oh I don't know, Sherlock can be very particular about how he looks sometimes."

"I'm precise, that's all. Not particular."

John smiled at him.

"Ah, here we are!" Mike said as Jane came into the kitchen.

Everyone said good evening, and kissed on each other's cheeks and commented on how nice everyone else looked.

"I hope I'll be warm enough," Jane said. "One of the oddest conventions of this society is that women have to put on elegant, but impractical dresses, and the men all have to have starched collars and ties, so instead of having a lovely meal out, you're all sat there vaguely uncomfortable for several hours."

"Yes, why don't we all put on jeans and t-shirts and go back to our place for a take-out," Sherlock suggested.

Everyone laughed, politely.

"I wasn't making a joke," he whispered to John as they headed out.

"I know." John squeezed his hand.

John started fretting as soon as they got into the cab. He was worried about leaving Scarlet and he wanted to take Sherlock's hand for security but he didn't feel he could. He was also concerned about Sherlock who suddenly seemed tense and nervous.

Sherlock was tense and nervous. He suddenly felt out of depth with this 'pretending to be normal and nice' plan. He hadn't shared with John the fact that he'd never successfully pulled it off before. He stared out of the window and ignored the rest of the company.

They didn't say much until they'd got to the restaurant and were settled at their table. Mike got a text.

"Oh look, 'Children all asleep, Scarlet's lovely, fell asleep holding Em's hand.' Aw, I knew they'd all get on."

"I can't believe she's asleep already," John said. "She's never out that quick at home!"

"I told you; Anne-Marie is an absolute gem. Mine aren't this good for me either!"

"Do you think maybe she's drugging them?" Sherlock asked.

Everyone laughed again.

"Not a joke," he whispered to John. John merely slipped his hand beneath the table to squeeze his leg.

Sherlock lapsed into silence as the Mike and John relaxed and started chatting generally about Bart's hospital. Occasionally Jane was asked her opinion and seemed prepared to give it in a somewhat bored fashion. After a while, Mike seemed to realise that this was a conversation Sherlock couldn't readily join in, so he asked him about work.

Sherlock answered with short, factual sentences, trying to keep gore and sensation to an absolute minimum. He mostly stared at his food.

They all lapsed into silence.

A few banalities were uttered about the weather and the roads.

Sherlock looked up. "John's killed several people!"

John choked on his wine, and looked up at Mike and Jane who were staring at him.

"I was in the army. It was an occupational hazard for a while." He blushed.

"I didn't mean…" Sherlock started, but seeing the look on John's face he decided not to end this sentence. He went back to his food.

"So, Sherlock," Jane said to him, "Mike tells me you're a Psychopath."

Now Mike choked. "I didn't…"

Fortunately, Sherlock wasn't offended in the least.

"I'm a high functioning Sociopath."

"Hm. You know that there is no real distinction between Psychopathy and Sociopathy, don't you? Basically it's the same part of the brain that doesn't function. It's just one sounds nicer. When were you diagnosed?"

"There is a distinction."

"No there's not. A small group of psychiatrists argue that Psychopathy is pathological and that Sociopathy is learned behaviour, but to be quite honest, I don't hold to that myself. We know the parts of the brain that don't work in a psychopath. The cause of this is not really relevant, and very difficult to prove either way."

Sherlock turned to look at John.

"Did you know this?"

"Yes, of course I did."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Partly because it's not my area and I'm not as up to date with the research about it as Jane is. And partly because I personally don't think you're either."

"Really?" Jane put in. "I assumed there was a firm diagnosis. Who originally diagnosed you?"

"A childhood doctor, according to my Mother."

"And it was never challenged or confirmed?"

"Well, no. When you get to know me it becomes fairly obvious."

"Hm. I think even when I get to know you I wouldn't be able to see how your brain was working from the outside. You're clearly socially awkward, but I wouldn't be prepared to say 'psychopathic' without at least giving you a brain scan."

"Sociopathic."

"You say tomatoes."

"I do what?"

"Sorry. Irrelevant."

"Jane, darling do you think you could perhaps stop trying to study Sherlock? He's not a test-subject."

"Well you said…"

Mike smiled, embarrassed.

"He's also a genius," John put in.

"A genius? Now that _is _interesting."

"Thanks, John," Mike said. "That was helpful."

"Well, you know. I kill people."

"Can you diagnose 'genius' without your clever brain scan?" Sherlock demanded of Jane.

"Well we could certainly measure brain activity. It's difficult; genius is such a woolly definition. People can be musical geniuses but unable to add three to two. Pushy parents label their children as gifted when it just means they're above average and they've taught them to study really well. I bet a true genius would be able to make my machines light up like it's Christmas though."

Sherlock's eyes flashed.

Jane stared at him, poised.

Mike and John wondered if they should retreat to the bar.

"I don't suppose you could…"

"Would you want me to…"

"I wouldn't want to encroach on your time…"

"I'm sure you have lists of suitable test subjects…"

"Perhaps maybe…"

"Wait a second," John cut in. "If you were to scan his brain, could you diagnose whether he was a Sociopath, once and for all?"

"Pyschopath. Oh yes. I could do that in ten minutes. No, the genius is the real thing…"

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Sherlock said. "Wait," he turned to John. "You want to get the Sociopathy properly diagnosed?"

"Well, no not really. I just thought while you were there it would be interesting to know, wouldn't it? You don't want a woolly, imprecise diagnosis for the rest of your life would you?"

"Don't try to manipulate me. But it might be interesting."

"Well that's settled then," Jane said, sounding very pleased. "I'll take a look at the schedule and book you in so we can have a good look at your brain!"

oOo

Later, after the date was over and Scarlet had been carried, still asleep, back in a cab and back to John's flat, Sherlock sat down on the sofa to consider things.

John came in to find him, already in pyjamas and sat down next to him.

"You OK?"

"Mm. Nice evening I thought."

"Mm. Sooooo, 'John's killed people.'"

"What?"

"I mean, you just thought you'd drop that into the conversation with a couple of doctor's did you?"

"Well, yes. You didn't think I could brag about you, and so I did."

"Really. And you decided that 'he kills people' was the best aspect of my character."

"It's one of my favourites!"

"Really? Maybe the Psychopath thing isn't so far off after all."

"Yes. I have quite a list and this was the first thing I got to that I thought was suitable for polite company."

"It wasn't suitable, for future reference."

"No. I think it was still safer than some of the other things on my list though."

"Well, yes. Possibly. And you're going to let Jane scan your brain are you?"

"Yes. Apparently."

"You can change your mind if you want. If you want to pull out, I can tell her you were drunk."

"I was drinking water."

"I'll tell her you're a lightweight."

Sherlock smiled. John kissed him. After a few minutes, Sherlock pulled away.

"Will you be there with me?"

"What? When?"

"When I have my scan."

"Oh, yes, if you want me to be."

"I do."

"OK, can we get back to where we were now please?"

"Mm."

* * *

**Right, this is quite obviously the first of a two parter and I have to admit that I'm slightly more focussed on the second part (I haven't been on many dates, and no double dates, so it felt odd imagining what would happen).**

**Apologies for any major typos here - I haven't re-read it as many times as I normally do!**

**Pip.**


	17. Sherlock's Brain

**First off, I completely forgot to thank people for the reviews on the Lestrade chapter! I'm so sorry! I really was blown away by the response, so thank you, and it was nice after having a longish break.**

**And thanks for the reviews on the last one too – I really wasn't sure about it myself, and remembered stuff I wanted to put in there after it was published, so I'm glad it came across well anyhow. It was published in a rush so I could get to this one.**

**Once again – I'm making this stuff up. All I know about brain mapping is that they can do some stuff and are learning some other stuff. Any more details are based on me just guessing and making it up. It really is just my take on Sherlock's brain, and just one possible suggestion...  
**

**

* * *

**_This is a fortnight after the date._

Sherlock tossed and turned in bed. He changed position. He snuggled up to John and breathed in the scent of his back. He wrapped his arm around him. Eventually he poked John in the ribs.

"You don't need to do that, I've been awake for the past half hour."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was hoping to not be awake quite soon."

"I can't sleep."

"No, I can tell." John turned onto his back and rubbed his face. "OK, what's bothering you?"

"There's nothing bothering me."

"Well, I fail to believe you're randy, and if you were hungry you'd go and eat something, so why can't you sleep?"

"I don't know."

"Is it about the scan tomorrow?"

"No."

"Because if you're worried you can always pull out. I keep saying."

"I'm not worried."

"OK then. Go to sleep."

John turned back onto his side. Sherlock huffed and puffed for a while.

"John..."

"Mm?"

"What if I'm not?"

"Not what?"

"Not anything. What if I'm not a genius at all? What if I'm just slightly above average but have been pushed to work hard."

"The world would continue turning."

"What if I'm not a sociopath?"

"The world would still continue turning."

"No. What if I'm nothing? What if I'm like everyone else?"

John rolled back to face him.

"Sherlock, you could never, ever be 'nothing'. All we'll see tomorrow is what parts of your brain are working, and how and when those parts of your brain react to stuff. It won't make the slightest bit of difference to what you can and can't do, or who you are, or how much I love you. So don't worry about it. OK?"

"OK. Yes. You're right."

"I'm always right. Now go to sleep."

He rolled back over. Sherlock spooned up behind him.

"John..."

"Mm."

"As it happens, I _am_ randy."

"Yeah? Well, sucks to be you."

oOo

The following day, at one o'clock, Sherlock came to find John in his study at Bart's. He stared wildly around the room, clutching a carrier bag.

"Sherlock, as you sure you're not worried about this?"

"What? No. Course not."

"Really?"

Sherlock went to stare out of the window and didn't answer.

"There's another level to this, isn't there?" John asked him. "You believe yourself to be both a genius and a sociopath. You're concerned that you might be about to be proved wrong."

"I'm just... how accurate are these things anyway? I mean, can they really tell?"

"Well, yes, brain mapping is really coming along. I've been reading some of Jane's own publications and she's really very good at this. Of course it's not an exact science yet, and they're finding more and more all the time. They can pinpoint some individual emotions though, guilt being one of the ones they really understand now. It's a very exciting area. I'm quite looking forward to seeing the machines."

"So she won't be wrong?"

John smiled. "You're still looking for an out. If you don't want to do this, you don't have to."

"No. I want to do this. I wouldn't want to walk away now anyway."

"OK then." John frowned suddenly. "What are you wearing? Jane clearly said 'comfortable clothing'. That's not comfortable."

"I've got pyjamas in my bag. I wasn't going to wear them in the cab, was I?"

"Have you seriously got no clothes between 'collar and cuff-links' and 'pyjamas'?"

"How have you known me so long and never noticed that?"

"I haven't studied your wardrobe, Sherlock. You're clothes are either on you, or on the floor. Types and styles are irrelevant. Right, let's go. Jane finishes teaching at one and she wants us soon afterwards."

"Teaching? She's a teacher too? I'm not sure I want to be scanned by a _teacher._"

"Come on. Let's go."

oOo

Jane was calm and practical. There was a sense that Sherlock and John were being invited into what was unmistakably her area. "Right, Sherlock, I'm going to restrain your head. Are you comfortable with that?"

"Yes."

"Good. I need you to keep your head as still as possible, but we'll need you to use your hands for the control panels you have at either side of you. The restraint is just Velcro to steady you; if you really wanted to escape you could, but we've found that it takes people a while to get used to using their hands without turning their head."

"OK."

"You'll see a screen above you when you get into the machine. I'll give you instructions in addition to what you can see on the screen. The microphone in the scanner is constantly on, so John and I will be able to hear everything you say, and we can speak to you and answer any questions."

"Right. OK."

"Right, the other thing is that Jenny here will be in the room with you. She will need to cause you some pain."

"What?"

"We're testing how your brain empathises. The first thing we'll do is cause you some pain to see how your brain reacts, and then see how your brain reacts when you see other people in pain."

"That doesn't seem very scientific?"

"Really? Well one of us is a world famous psychiatrist and neurologist, and one of us isn't, so we'll be doing this my way. OK?"

"OK."

"Sherlock, you don't have to do this," John reminded him.

"No, it's fine. It's just pain. Will you be in here?"

"No, I'll be up in the viewing room. I want to see your brain, Sherlock! OK, good luck." He kissed him lightly and went up into the viewing room with Jane.

John settled himself down in the viewing room, surrounded with computer monitors. Jane turned them all on, then started the machine. As Sherlock's head moved out of view, John felt himself feeling slightly nervous.

Jane pressed the microphone button.

"Right, Sherlock, the first thing we're going to do is a quick, straight forward scan. I want to check your brain for any obvious problems. It will take about fifteen minutes. Assuming all is well, we'll move straight on to the tests."

"OK." Sherlock's voice sounded tinny through the speakers. "Is John still there?"

John pressed his mike button. "I'm still here, darling."

"Darling?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Sherlock's hands flinched as the machine around him suddenly became loud, but he settled down again.

John watched as an image of Sherlock's brain appeared on the monitor in front of him. Jane pointed out the other monitors.

"The coloured spots on here show where there are heightened electrical impulses, giving us an indication of what parts of his brain he's using. The spectrum goes from yellow for low level activity up to red for high. There's blue too, for zero activity, but I wouldn't get too focused on that. The monitors here, here and here are focused on specific areas of his brain so we can focus on the activity. This one here is long term memory, this one short, and bits of learning and some parts of speech. Other parts of speech here, and these two here are the really interesting ones. This one has emotion, and this one is its opposite; logic. This is the exact area we're interested in here."

John looked at the emotion-brain. He was pleased to see that it was already showing activity. It showed yellow across the whole area, but with a spot of orange.

"What's that?" He asked Jane.

"Not sure. It's close to his fear reflex. Could be anxiety but it's low level at the moment."

Jane focused on the main screen and sipped her tea as the slices of Sherlock's brain appeared in front of her.

John fretted again, wondering what would happen if something alarming appeared at this part of the scan. He wondered whether this was a really bad idea after all. He was very relieved when this part of the test was finished and Jane used her microphone to tell Sherlock he was fine.

John frowned. "That orange spot's gone red. And it's bigger."

Jane seemed unconcerned. "Yes, he's panicking. Look how his pulse and blood-pressure are raised."

John pressed his button. "Sherlock, are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Fine," he responded.

"Hah, look at his guilt reflex go!" Jane said to John. "Well we know that works, anyhow."

John noticed Sherlock's pulse had spiked faster before settling again. He smiled had pressed his mike button again.

"Sherlock, I think you should know that we can see when you're lying."

"Really?" There was a blaze of lights over several screens as Sherlock digested this information.

"Yes, really. What's wrong?"

"I feel nauseous."

"Well that explains the panic," John told Jane. "He hates being ill." He pressed his button again. "Sherlock, did you remember to fast beforehand like I told you?"

"Yes."

Jane pressed her button. "Once again, Sherlock, we can tell when you're lying."

"I don't like this any more! And it was only a scone."

John smiled. "Interesting, that's what throwing a strop looks like on the inside." He pressed his mike button. "Do you want to stop, Sherlock?"

A flash of emotions. "No."

"Are you going to be sick? Because if you are we need to get you out of the machine. We can take a break anyhow."

Lights blazed.

"Look at this!" Jane said, "He's accessing both long and short term memory, and emotions, and logic. Low level, but he's really keyed in to everything at once isn't he!"

"I think I'm fine. Stop talking about it," Sherlock said.

"OK, well, just relax, and take a couple of deep breaths for a minute," John told him.

Another blaze of lights.

"He really likes you doesn't he," Jane commented.

"I'd like to think so, but those lights could equally be 'annoyed'."

Jane smiled. "I'm getting better at reading all of these, you know. I think he likes you."

John allowed himself to glow slightly.

Jane spoke to Sherlock. "How are you feeling now, Sherlock."

"I'm still nauseous."

Jane read her screens and laughed. "Gosh he learns quickly doesn't he!"

"You have no idea."

"No, the instinct to lie is huge and he just overrode it as if it wasn't there! His logic centre is absolutely in control here." She seemed excited, but went back to Sherlock. "Do you want to stop, or should we start the tests?"

"Tests."

"Good, right, Jenny is going to hit your hand with a ruler. It won't be hard enough to bruise."

John frowned as the 'fear' area briefly glowed red and settled at orange.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"Look at his long term memory go wild!" Jane said.

"What's that?" John asked, pointing at another red spot.

"Shame. Is he afraid of pain? Is ashamed of that?"

"No, it's something else." He turned on his speaker. "Sherlock, would you prefer to be pinched? On the leg maybe."

The monitors calmed. "Yes please."

"It makes no difference to the test. In fact it's probably a more accurate picture if he's not tainting the pain with bad associations." She instructed Jenny to pinch Sherlock and John began to wonder if she had psychopathic tendencies herself.

John watched as Jenny pinched Sherlock. It was harder than John had anticipated and he frowned. His leg jerked in sympathy. Jane noticed.

"Well we know you can empathise at any rate."

John ignored her. He held himself back from talking to Sherlock now. He knew he hated a fuss over this sort of thing.

"Look at all of this! He just thinks constantly, doesn't he? That logic centre is never switched off, even when he's experiencing pain." She went back to Sherlock. "Right, Sherlock, I want you to focus on the screen in front of you. You'll see some images. Try to relax and just watch them."

John watched a smaller monitor which showed what Sherlock was seeing. There was a display of various images of people in pain, and occasionally short video clips. He looked up at the monitors.

"Look, here, here and here, watch these spots. They're exactly the same responses to pain he showed when it was him. It's on a lower level, but it's there. Sherlock _can_ empathise."

John continued watching as the spots slowly grew lighter and started turning yellow. He frowned.

"Is he getting sensitised?"

"No, look at his logic. He's legitimising all of it. He's making his logic centre overrule his emotion." She smiled, entranced. "He's very good isn't he!"

"Isn't that a working definition of Sociopathy though? Choosing to turn your emotion off when it suits you."

"Well, some people have suggested that, but even they think that it's basically all or nothing. The choice has been made at some point, probably subconsciously, possibly in response to external factors, and the emotion is slowly written out until it's just not there any more. Some are still there obviously, anger being one of them, fear being another so that those two take up the space of all the others, but it's not the same as this. Sherlock can access his emotion. He's just very, very focussed when he needs to be."

John felt a strange sense of pride. He then frowned as suddenly all of Sherlock's pain responses glowed red. He looked at Sherlock's monitor and saw a picture of himself on the screen, sporting cuts and bruises and a bandage across his forehead. He didn't remember it, but from the clues on the screen it was taken when he was in hospital following the swimming pool bomb.

It disappeared from the screen and Sherlock's brain settled down again. John turned to Jane.

"That was unkind."

She shrugged. "Why? We got an accurate response. Sherlock can empathise. He can feel guilt and he can feel shame. He is not a Psychopath."

"I want to stop the test."

She pressed her speaker button. "Sherlock, do you want to stop the test."

"No."

A part of the screen was glowing.

"What's that?"

"I think he's angry."

"I wonder why."

She shrugged again. "It's legitimate research."

John turned away and forced himself to calm down. He turned back to Jane.

"What I don't understand is, I've seen him behave in an extremely callous way to people. How can he do that if he's empathising? And another thing, if he knows how other people feel, and he knows what social conventions are, why does he always say the least appropriate thing when he's in company? He's not stupid, obviously, but he seems so genuinely clueless. Why does he do that? Is he enjoying the response in some way?"

She shrugged. "Well, shall we go on and find out?"

John thought about Jane. She was clearly focussed to the point of being vaguely unprofessional, but she wasn't exactly the first person he'd met like that. And she got results. And a lot of the things she was researching were important. Vital, in fact, when it came to understanding the way in which the brain worked. He knew that doctors like him were indebted to researchers like her, particularly when they pushed in directions he would be too afraid to go.

Besides all of which, it was Sherlock's brain, and he desperately wanted to understand how Sherlock's brain worked.

"He says yes," he replied, knowing the answer was a cop-out.

Jane smiled and pressed her mike button. "Right, Sherlock, you're going to see a series of questions on the screen in front of you, mostly they're logic, but there are some maths, general knowledge and some other bits and pieces thrown in there. It's a straight forward multiple choice format, and you have two buttons on each of the hand controls to give your answers. The first couple of screens are just for orientation."

John watched Sherlock's monitor as Sherlock worked out which button did what. The questions started. John barely had time to read each question before Sherlock would answer it and it would drop from the screen. He turned instead to look at the monitors. As Jane had predicted, most of them were a display of dancing lights. He smiled. He imagined that Sherlock would be pleased if he could see. He'd probably ask for some screen shots to use as Christmas cards.

Jane laughed. "God he is really good at this isn't he!"

"What's he doing?" John asked, though he thought he could virtually see for himself.

"He's doing _everything_! His logic is turned up, obviously, but he's accessing everything at once. There's virtually no part of his brain that he isn't activating, with a few exceptions such as the areas that deal with smell and taste. Though even those occasionally... Gosh, he has a very efficient filing system, doesn't he?"

"Hah! Are there any questions in there about astronomy?"

She sighed. "It's just extraordinary. Really, really... extraordinary."

"I've always thought so. His emotions are turned off though."

"No they're not."

"The screen isn't going."

"Yes it is; it's just fast." She rewound and slowed down so that John could see each microsecond. In response to each question, Sherlock's emotions would blaze briefly, and then diminish into nothing and the rest of his brain took over.

"So he's squashing his emotions?"

"No I don't think so. If he was squashing them they wouldn't come back for each question. He's using them."

"For what?"

"For instinct. Most people respond to even logic questions with their emotions first. He's just got it down to a fine art. What he appears to be doing, is getting emotional guidance first, so that he can access the parts of his brain that he'll need even more efficiently. Without the emotional input he'd get there, but it would take longer. And he is answering these questions remarkably quickly!"

"Because he's using his emotion first?"

"No, because he's accessing his brain in a remarkably efficient way. I've just explained that, keep up! Everything's talking to everything else all at the same time and he's focusing... it's odd. It's just very, very effective. It's really brilliant!"

"Are you sure you're not related to him in some way?"

"No, it would be unethical to do research on a family member."

"Would that stop you?"

She gave him a brief grin. The tests moved up a level with Sherlock being stimulated in between the questions with pictures and music.

"He can't be thrown off can he!" Jane was excited.

John just sat back and watched her.

"He's so very confident too!"

"Yes. How can you tell though?"

"Oh there are a few basic psychology tricks thrown in too. The questions increase in difficulty, but then we randomly stick some easy ones in there. Most people slow down and second guess themselves but he just blazes straight through. On some of them we tell him he's wrong but it's completely ignoring that. He either thinks it doesn't matter, which I doubt because his pride spot is glowing now, or he's sure he knows better than the computer."

She sighed in a very satisfied manner.

"So... Would you say genius then?"

"Oh yes. I wonder if he'd let me dissect his brain when he dies."

"He might outlive you."

She looked round, upset. "Oh that's a depressing thought. What a complete waste."

John grinned.

"We're coming to an end of this." Jane said, going back to the screens.

"So, not a Sociopath, but is a genius. What about the inappropriate comments?"

"I'm not sure we have a test for those. But the way you referred to it then makes it sound like a form of tourettes or some other tic disorder."

"It's not tourettes."

"No, I agree. I do wonder if it is a stress reaction though."

John frowned. "Do you have a test for that?"

Jane smiled. "I could probably make one."

"Is anyone still there?" Sherlock's voice came through again.

"Yes, sorry Sherlock," Jane replied. "I didn't expect you to be finished that quickly. I've asked a couple of people from my department to come in and look at you. Do you mind?"

"No."

John was able to see there was some low level anxiety though.

"Is John still there?"

"I'm still here."

"Thank you."

John spoke again, "Sherlock, can we ask you some questions please?"

"Yes."

"I mean, can I ask you some questions while seeing what's happening in your brain."

"Yes, isn't that the point of this?"

John thought for a moment.

"Sherlock, you remember way back, with the blind old woman. The one in the block of flats, the one who Moriarty killed..."

"I remember. What about her?"

John could see Sherlock's emotions flare.

"Do you think you should have relieved her sooner? Do you think that after what happened, that would have been the better thing to do?"

"No. I bought us some time when we needed time" he answered, frankly.

There were bright flashes of emotion. Guilt being the one that John could readily identify now.

"But you lost that round."

More emotional flashes. Jane pointed out 'shame'.

"No I didn't. I won. He changed the game."

John turned off his speaker for a moment. "How can he sound so calm when he's feeling such strong emotions?"

"I don't know. It's weird."

"It is that."

"This is interesting though. It's almost the exact opposite of usual Psychopathic behaviour. A psychopath doesn't feel the emotion, but acts out the emotion that is appropriate for the situation by copying what he's seen other people do. So exhibiting shame without feeling shame. What he's doing is feeling the emotion, but refusing to let anything but logic show on the outside."

"Why?"

"I don't know. You're the one dating him."

"I know you're talking about me!" Sherlock snapped at them.

"He's feeling stressed," Jane pointed out. "He's very worried too. He's anxious again."

John pressed his mike button. "Are you OK, Sherlock?"

"Yes! Of course! Fine!"

Jane cut in. "Sherlock, there are some people I'd like you to meet after this. I'll arrange for a team meeting. Is that OK?"

"Yes! Fine! Will John be there?"

John could see Sherlock's anxiety grow.

"No. It's not appropriate for John to be there."

"Why."

"He distracts you."

John didn't intervene, but he could see Sherlock's anxiety grow.

"In fact, Sherlock, we have an event coming up in a week or so. We're having a guest lecturer followed by a drinks reception. I'd very much like for you to be there."

"With John?"

"No."

"Why do you want me there?" John asked him.

"I don't want you there. I was just asking."

John didn't need the machines to know that this was a lie.

Jane sat back with a smile. "He's shy. That's all. Shy."

"He's really not."

"You can see for yourself! Just the thought of being with a group of people's sending his stress levels sky high." She turned her mike on. "Sherlock, we're nearly... oh! Gosh are you..." She clicked off the microphone and paused before turning it on again. "Sorry, John's leg just gave out. We're nearly finished now. If you could just give me five more minutes."

"Fine. Just hurry up."

Jane turned back to John with a smile. "He didn't emote then, when hearing you were in pain. The only emotion that's working is the panic one. His logic is working overdrive, but nothing else is getting through at all. I couldn't swear to it, but I honestly reckon that he has a mild social phobia. He goes into fight or flight mode, is restrained from either of those actions so has to rely on the only thing that's still working. Logic, unfettered and unrefined by any emotional input."

John thought about this. "But you said he was confident."

"With the logic stuff yes, but possibly not with the people stuff. You know him better than I do. Could it be that?"

John thought back. He thought about the first time he met Sherlock. He was outrageously confident with him, a stranger at the time. On the other hand, he was in the middle of a case. He'd been in a good mood that day, buoyed by the fact that he knew for sure he was right. Another memory floated back. There was a moment when Sherlock had looked at him in the cab.

"You've got questions." And on his face, what was that? Resignation? The moment when he believed that John would hate him, just like everyone else had done.

And after Sherlock had done his song and dance routine.

"That was brilliant."

"You think so?"

There was something in the question. Surprise mostly. But relief too. Of course there would be when most people respond with 'piss off'. Sherlock could do one thing really, really well, and most people didn't like it. He pretty much assumed that he would be hated wherever he went. To be fair, he probably was.

It was possible that he was genuinely nervous of being disliked and upsetting people. And from experience, that was the likely outcome for him. And because of the stress of that fear, he couldn't relax enough to emote so that he could engage with people normally. It seemed like a particularly viscous catch-22.

So when he needed to use logic and keep his brain focussed on that, he'd get the minimum guidance from emotion, then he'd shut it down.

And the emotion got shut down for him when he was overly stressed.

It did make a strange kind of sense. Sort of. If he could ever believe that Sherlock could possibly be socially anxious. On the other hand, he'd never have believed that he feel that amount of guilt until he saw it on the scan.

He pressed his mike button again. "Sherlock, I've told Jane you can't stay afterwards after all."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, and I intend to take you home and fuck you for a while. Is that OK?"

"OK."

He flicked the mike off. "You ought to make your screens go pink for 'relief'."

"I could probably design some more tests you know. See if we can work out whether he is shy."

John shrugged. "I suppose if he wants you to. I wouldn't bother though. Ultimately, he is what he is. I hope at some point he gets to realise that that's fine."

Jane turned the machine and monitors off and John got up to go and meet Sherlock. By the time he got into the scanning room, Sherlock had been released and was sat on the trolley while Jenny detached the various monitors that he'd been attached to. John handed him a glass of water.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've got a bit of a headache."

"Well now I've seen what goes on in that head, I'm really not surprised."

Jenny left, and John pulled Sherlock into a kiss, running his hand through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock pulled away. "What? What was that for? You've found out something horrible, haven't you."

John smiled. "No."

"What's the diagnosis then?"

"Well, Jane certainly thinks you're a genius." Sherlock grinned, delighted. "I'd watch your back for a while though; she'd very much like to get her hands on your brain."

"I knew I was. I'm going to text Mycroft and tell him."

"I think Mycroft knows, Sweetheart."

"Sweetheart now?"

"Mm. You're not a psychopath, or a sociopath."

Sherlock's face fell. "Oh."

"You're disappointed? You don't have a mental illness. There is nothing wrong with your brain, that's a _good _thing, Sherlock."

"Yes of course. I know all that."

"But?"

"But if I'm not... then I'm just not a very nice person. Because let's face it, I'm not."

"I think you're fine."

"I'm not normal though. People don't exactly warm to me or smile when they see me."

"Look, you have some very specific personality traits, and one of the major ones is that you do whatever you have to do to get the job done. Some people might not like that. But I bet they like that the job gets done. So people don't want to invite you to their parties. It strikes me that that says more about them than it does about you."

Sherlock thought about this for a moment. He turned back to John.

"I seem to recall there was some talk of fucking me."

"There was."

Sherlock checked his watch and jumped off the trolley. "Right, we've got less than two hours before we need to get Scarlet, that's not much time when you factor in the cab ride and the walk to the nursery. We could just go to your office; it's got blinds and a lock. Actually that's in another building. What about here? We could block the door... no, you'd probably get all tense about there being a viewing room. Though..."

"Sherlock, get changed. I'll get a cab."

* * *

**Just to let you know, I haven't had a second to respond to individual reviews on the last chapter yet. Sorry – I prioritised writing the chapter. I will get too it though!**

**I haven't the slightest clue what's coming next, so please feel free to nudge me in the direction of a prompt, or send me a new one.**

**Pip.  
**


	18. Adoption

**OK, well I have achieved something here that I wanted to do in JFF but I never quite managed it – Scarlet and John. I've finally been able to give him some Daddy-Daughter time.**

**So yes, this one, by its nature, is quite Scarlet-centric. **

**This one might also have to carry a 'twee' warning. Sorry.**

**

* * *

**_Five_

John and Scarlet were sat on the sofa, feeling lazy, on a Saturday afternoon. It was one of the first properly hot days of the year and they were sharing ice-cream, straight from the tub. John was usually quite precise about Scarlet's eating habits. She was supposed to sit at the table, eat, or at least taste her own food, and not beg for the best bits from everyone else's plates. It frustrated him immensely that Sherlock would happily give her whatever she asked for and really didn't care whether she used cutlery, fingers, or even just her tongue.

But he was relaxed about ice-cream, and she was nestled against him, and they were occasionally having spoon fights, and the whole thing felt blissfully close and summery.

"Daddy? Can I ask you a question?"

"You can."

"Would you get really angry if I called Sherlock 'Daddy' one day? If I did it by accident or something?"

"No, of course not! Why would you think I'd be cross?"

"Milly's Dad, her real Dad, got cross."

"Because she called someone else Daddy by accident?"

"No. She's got two Dads now, like I have, but her other one is married to her Mum and she has to call her new one 'Dad' because her Mum says so, but her other Dad, the one she's always had, got really cross about it and drank too much and the police came. So I wanted to know."

"No, Scarlet, I wouldn't get cross. I wouldn't get cross if he asked you to call him Dad, and I wouldn't get cross if you wanted to call him Dad either. You can call Sherlock whatever you want to."

"OK. Good. 'Cos, sometimes when you're not there and he is, it accidently falls out of my mouth and I say 'Dad' but I mean him."

"Really?" John smiled at her. "What does he say when that happens?"

She thought for a moment. "Nothing. I don't remember. I think he doesn't say anything about it, but only just answers the question."

"Oh. He'd never mentioned."

"Maybe he didn't hear."

"No, I think he probably did."

They ate some more ice-cream, each lost in their own, personal thoughts.

"Scarlet, would you like Sherlock to be your Dad?"

"He is my Dad."

"Yes, he is your Step-Dad, because he's married to me. But if you wanted, Sherlock could adopt you properly, so you would be his daughter, not his step-daughter."

"What's the difference?"

That stumped John for a moment. There would be a minor difference legally of course, but Scarlet was too young to understand the implications of that. As far as everything in her world was concerned, Sherlock was her father. Certainly, that's what her friends and her teachers thought.

"OK, well imagine you were ill and needed to go to hospital and I wasn't there..."

"Where would you be?"

"I don't know, that's not important..."

"Would you be at work?"

"Yes, OK, I'm at work, and you were ill and needed to go to hospital, well, Sherlock would be able to make that happen if he was your Dad."

"What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know. Maybe you broke your arm."

"How did I break my arm? Did Sherlock break it?"

"No of course not. I don't know, it's just a pretend broken arm, but if it happened, if Sherlock was your Dad, he could take you to hospital."

"Wouldn't Sherlock take me to hospital if I needed to go anyway? He wouldn't just leave me there with a broken arm. That's just silly!"

"Well, yes, of course he would, but the hospital would have to listen to him about how to look after you."

"Why would they ask him? They're the doctors! He's rubbish at fixing things."

"Yes I know..."

"He usually just makes things worse."

"Yes that's true. OK, well, let's not worry about any of it for the time being. But you should know that you can call Sherlock Dad any time you want. And I wouldn't get cross. In fact, I quite like it, I like that you think of him the same way you think of me."

"Well not completely. If I want something, I ask him and not you because you tell me no but he tells me yes. Sometimes even on the same day."

"OK. Good to know. He and I will be discussing that later. Right, that's enough ice-cream for now. I think it's bath and bed-time."

In fact when the evening came, and Sherlock got home, John found he was much more interested in the 'Dad' conversation than the 'playing them off each other' conversation.

"Why did you never mention it to me? Did you think I'd be cross too?"

"No. Well, not really. I wondered if you'd be sad, I suppose, but I didn't think you were going to get a caution for drunk and disorderly or anything."

"So why not."

"The first time or so, it was clearly accidental. She got the wrong name and there wasn't anything in it."

"You didn't care at all?"

"No. I wouldn't say that, but I didn't want to take an ad out to broadcast what was ultimately a mistake. After that though, there have been a couple of times when she seemed to be trying it out, tentatively. It seemed deliberate."

"So why didn't you mention that?"

"Because... because..." Sherlock stopped. His eyes widened and he turned to John. "You know, I have absolutely no idea! Not the slightest clue!"

He sat down on the sofa and stared at the bookshelves with a frown on his face. John sat next to him.

"Well, I think it's lovely," he said.

"Lovely?"

"Yes. I think it's really, really lovely that she's trying to work out her own relationship with you. I love it."

Sherlock smiled, and they both sat and stared at nothing for a while.

"But she doesn't understand adoption yet, does she?" Sherlock said.

"Nope. Not the slightest clue."

"It can wait."

oOo

_Six_

Scarlet was sat at the kitchen table, papers and pens surrounding her.

"Dad? Who's sister is Aunty Helen? Is she yours, or Dad's?"

"Neither. She's your Mother's younger sister."

"I've done this wrong then."

Sherlock got up and wandered over. "What is it?"

"Family tree. We're supposed to do one for our 'All about me' project, but mine's gone wrong."

"Let's have a look shall we?" He sat down next to her and looked at the chart. So far it was a mass of badly spelled names that appeared to be vaguely ascending in age as they were going up the page. "OK, well I can see that you've made a good start, and you've certainly thought about a lot of people, but with family trees, they're sort of a bit more structured. And a bit more... well, they're more based on who your actual family is rather than who you think they ought to be."

"OK, so who should be there?"

"Well you. Let's start there."

She dutifully wrote her name near the bottom of a new piece of paper.

"OK, and your parents go above you."

She wrote down 'John Watson' and 'Mary...'

"What was her other name?"

"It was Morstan. Before she married your Dad and then it was Watson too."

"Why isn't your name Watson too?"

"Because when John and I got married, we both chose to keep our original names. People can do that if they want. Or your Dad could have chosen to become Holmes like me, or we could have mashed them together and been Watson-Holmes. Or Holmes-Watson."

"If Dad had changed his name, I'd be the only Watson!"

"Yes you would."

"But now you're the only Holmes."

"Yes, but I'm fine with that. I like my name. OK?"

"Mm." She looked doubtful. "Did you know her? My Mum. Mary Watson."

"I did."

"Was she nice?"

"Yes, yes she was. She was very nice. I liked her a lot, and your Dad loved her very much. OK?"

She frowned but nodded.

"Good. Right, let's get back to this. So your parents are John and Mary, and they were married so you can put a 'm' between them if you want." She did so. "So now you can put on their brothers and sisters who are your aunts and uncles. So, do you know who belongs to whom? What about Aunty Helen?"

"She is Mum's."

"Right, and what about Uncle Joe?"

"He is... Mum's?"

"Yep. And do you remember Aunty Harry?"

"Yes. She's Dad's. I know, because I remember him shouting 'she's my bloody sister!' that time."

"OK, well, yes. That's his sister. So now we can find out what all their parent's names were."

"Wait, we forgot Uncle Mycroft."

"Yes, well he's my brother."

"Wait! We forgot you, Sherlock! I need another line on here!"

"No, well, if you want, you can put a one next to Mary's name, and you can put me underneath it with a two. That says your Dad was married to her first, and then to me. That's what makes me your step-father."

"And then I can put a line from you to me."

"No, that line doesn't go there."

"Why not?"

"Because... well, because they're your parents. John and Mary."

"And you."

"No... well, yes, we know, me you and your Dad, we all know that, but legally, no."

She frowned and stared at her chart.

Sherlock hesitated. "Scarlet, there could be a way that I could be your father... Not genetically, that just a fact of life, but legally, I could become your parent. If you wanted." She continued frowning, but seemed interested so he went on. "The thing is, everyone's allowed two parents, and at the moment, according to law, your parents are John and Mary, but there is a way of saying that your two parents are now John and me. I could adopt you."

"And then you'd then be on my chart?"

"Yes."

"Where would Mum go?"

"Well... You... I don't know. I'm sure she'd still be on there somewhere."

Scarlet stared at the name 'Mary Morstan' on her chart. "She was nice," she said, quietly to herself.

Sherlock suddenly felt ashamed of himself for even raising the subject.

They heard the door go, and a few moments later John walked in. "Evening! Is there any food? What's wrong with the two of you? You both look like someone just died!"

"There's nowhere for Sherlock to go on my family tree, and if he adopts me, then there's nowhere for Mum to go."

"What do you mean? Of course you can put Sherlock on your family tree!"

"No, I can put him because he's married to you, but he's not connected to me. Sherlock says there's rules."

John looked at him amused. He sat down next to them both.

"OK, well, maybe there in some circles, but this is for a year one project, and if you want to have Sherlock and your Mum both on there and both connected to you, then you can, Scarlet. We have a slightly different form of family but you're not the only one in the class in that situation, and it's fine. I promise you."

"But it will be wrong."

"No, it will be a different kind of right."

Sherlock smirked at him but John ignored it.

"OK, so Mycroft is his brother..." Scarlet said, writing his name on.

"Yes, that's right," John told her.

"OK, then where do I put Mrs Hudson?"

John and Sherlock stared at each other.

"Any idea about making that a different kind of right?" Sherlock asked.

Later, after Scarlet was in bed, John came downstairs to find Sherlock moping on the sofa.

"What's up? Are you bothered about the wrongness of the year one homework?"

"No. I fluffed the adoption conversation. I messed it up entirely. She hated the idea."

"Really? Are you sure she understood the idea? Because earlier today she was struggling with the concept of shoelaces."

"She understood that I'd be over-writing Mary. She looked miserable about it. She doesn't want to lose that connection, I can tell."

John sat down and sighed. "Look, it's not final. She's saying 'no' now, but..."

"No, she wasn't saying no, _I'm_ saying no. She looked miserable about the idea of losing the one, tiny connection she has to Mary, and I'm not taking that tiny connection away from her. I don't want it raised again."

John blew his breath out slowly. "OK, well maybe that's my fault. Maybe it would be easier for her to accept the change if Mary was more present. If I talked about her, if there were pictures up... I'll call Helen and see whether she wants to... I don't know, maybe she could take Scarlet out sometime and talk to her about what Mary was like when she was little."

"No. Well, yes, do all of that. They all sound like the sorts of things she'd enjoy and she'd benefit from, but I don't want the subject of me adopting her raised again."

John looked miserable.

"Look," Sherlock told him, "I'll always be her stepfather. I'm in your will as her guardian, if anything happened I would always be a huge part of her life. Hell, if, in the unlikely event that you and I divorced, I would still see her. I'd visit, she'd visit me. She'll remain my only heir. I am to all intents and purposes her father, but let's not discuss adoption again. OK?"

John sighed. "OK."

oOo

_Seven_

"Daddy, why do I have blonde hair?"

"Erm, well, I've got blonde hair, and your Mum had blonde hair, so it was quite likely that you'd have blonde hair too."

"Why? Is it a rule that you have to?"

"No. No it's not so much a rule, it just means you have lots of blonde hair genes in you. From both me and from your Mum."

"If Sherlock had a baby with someone, they might have dark hair."

"Yes, but I don't think Sherlock's going to have a baby with anyone."

"Why not?"

"Well, Sherlock's married to me, so he's probably not going to be making a baby with a woman any time soon. Besides which, we've got you."

"So I'll never have a brother or a sister."

"No. Does that bother you?"

"No, I don't think so. I mean, what would I do with them? Where would they sleep?"

"Well I'm sure we could shoe-horn them in somewhere. But to be honest, it's probably not going to happen."

"It's funny to think though, that if I did have a sister or a brother, they might not look like me at all."

"Mm. Well, not all siblings look alike anyhow. And also it would depend wouldn't it. I mean, you remember how babies are made Scarlet?"

"Yes. Miss Streeter said we shouldn't really talk about it in school though."

"OK, well it's just biology, so you talk about it wherever you want. But what I'm saying is that if there was a brother or sister for you, and that was made my sperm and not Sherlock's, then they might look a bit like you. They would look like some sort of cross between what I look like, along with whatever their mother looked like. Just like you look a bit like me and bit like your Mum."

"But that wouldn't be fair to Sherlock."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, no-one would look like Sherlock if you got to use your sperm again."

John screwed his face up into a frown, wondering how the conversation had got down this particular avenue.

"OK, well, let's not worry about who's sperm is going to make a baby that's never going to exist. But yes, the idea is that you are made up of both your Mum and your Dad's genes, and some genes are stronger than others, so some people look more like their Dad than they do like their Mum, or the other way round. Actually, you look very like your Mum in those pictures Aunty Helen let you have. I think you look more like her than you do like me, but you're still half me and half her."

But if I haven't got Sherlock's genes, I'll never be tall like he is. I'll only be short."

"I'm really not that short, Scarlet! I'm above average and so was your Mum!"

Scarlet was quiet for a while. She looked cross.

"What's bothering you?" John asked.

"I still don't think it's fair to Sherlock."

John smiled. "I think he's OK. I think he's happy with the current situation."

Later, when John was at his computer in the lounge, Scarlet wandered through to where Sherlock was in the kitchen. He glanced up from his row of test-tubes.

"Scarlet, pass me that jar of eyeballs would you."

She looked at them closely before handing them over. "Are they human?"

He looked up again and glanced at John who didn't appear to be listening. "Let's say 'no'."

"Sherlock, do you want a baby of your own?"

He almost dropped the eyeballs. "No. What? Why in God's name would I want a baby?"

She shrugged. "I just wondered. I just wondered if you'd want a child that looked like you one day. Because I never will look like you."

"No. I'm fairly sure that there's no part of my genes that I'd want to burden on another generation."

She smiled, not really understanding him. "So you're happy that I'll never look like you, or have your genes."

"Yes, I'm happy with that. I get to live with you and while I wish you were a bit tidier and a little bit quieter in the mornings, I still like that I get to live with you."

"But you're not really my Dad. Are you."

"Look, Scarlet, the word 'Dad' covers a number of different things. Yes, it means your Dad, the one who made you and shared his genetic material with you, but it's also the name of a role. Of a job. You live with me, you call me Dad. I do your homework with you, you've thrown food at me, you've screamed in my face, you've weed on me, you've vomited on me. As far as being your Dad goes, I'm fairly sure I am doing the job, even if my genes aren't yours."

She thought about this. "Have I ever done anything nice for you?"

He grinned and hugged her closely. "Every day, Scarlet, every single day! Now, do you want me to show you how to dissect an eyeball?"

oOo

_Seven_

Sherlock buzzed the intercom at the school's main entrance. The secretary smiled brightly at him and waved before letting him in.

"Hello! I'll nip down and get her from the classroom in a second." She came out of the office door and handed some cards to him. "Here, these are for you and John and for Scarlet. Congratulations!"

Sherlock blushed and smiled. "Thank you."

"Come down to the classroom with me."

He followed her along a now familiar corridor, with children's art projects and posters hung along the wall. They went past the library where there was a class in progress and thirty small eyes stared at him."

"Congratulations, Mister Holmes," the teacher said.

Sherlock smiled and dipped his head.

They arrived at Scarlet's classroom and the secretary knocked and opened the door to the classroom. Sherlock lingered in the doorway.

Scarlet didn't wait to be excused but leapt up and ran into him full force.

"Oof" Sherlock said, stumbling backwards.

"Is it time to go? Now? Where's Dad, why isn't he here?"

Scarlet's teacher came to join them. "She's been very excited today."

"Yes. I have to admit that we anticipated that. It's part of the reason we wanted her to be here for half the day rather than at home, climbing up the walls."

"Yes. There's still a lot for you and Mister Watson to organise I suppose!"

"That's what we through. In fact we spent the morning waiting for Scarlet to come home again and annoying each other."

"Well, congratulations anyway. And this is for Scarlet." She handed him a shoebox. "The children made cards. We've talked a lot about families recently and they all know it's Scarlet's big day today, so it's become a bit of a project."

Sherlock smiled again, but didn't know what to say and would have struggled to speak anyway. He looked down at Scarlet instead.

"Can we go? Can we go? Can we go? Now?"

"Yes, we can go. Say thank you to Mrs Churcher, and goodbye."

"Bye!"

Her class mates all shouted 'Bye!" some of them making it into a competition in loudness. Some of them called "Good luck!" and some called "See you later!"

Scarlet grinned and hopped and hung onto Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock left Mrs Churcher to try to establish some order, and he took Scarlet away.

Back at the flat, John was waiting in the kitchen with Aunty Helen. He was already in his suit and looked ready to go. As usual, when Sherlock saw Helen he at first backed out of the room slightly, before forcing himself to come in and sit down with her.

"Are you excited, Scarlet?" Helen asked her.

"Yes! Are you coming with us?"

"I'll be at the party afterwards."

"Go up and have your shower, Scarlet, and then we can put you in your new dress." Sherlock said to her. He watched her as she went.

Helen smiled at him. "Are you all ready, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Well, mostly yes, I need to shower and dress but I think I'm set for everything else." He suddenly looked panicked and glanced at John, but didn't say anything.

"Sherlock, I think you'll be a wonderful father," Helen told him. "I think you already are. I really, really am happy for you. And for Scarlet."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

When the decision had been made, John and Sherlock had broached the subject of adopting Scarlet almost immediately with Helen. Sherlock was surprised that John had pushed him on this point and had been startled when Helen had cried at the suggestion. John didn't back away, but had told Helen firmly that they all wanted Mary, and by extension Helen, to be big part of Scarlet's life, but they wanted her to understand that Sherlock was what Scarlet needed now.

She had left subdued that day, but several days later called in and offered to help with organising the party and had thrown herself into this task with gusto. Sherlock had found himself slightly mistrustful of this woman whom he believed to be highly emotional. This feeling had grown as he'd watched as she and John discussed venues and catering and decorations. It felt strangely reminiscent of John planning his first wedding with Mary and he felt strangely threatened and unnecessary.

"She's doing it for you," John had told him. "She's still really embarrassed that she cried in front of you and she's trying to show you how she's really behind the idea."

"I'd prefer she just told me and left us alone."

"Well I appreciate her help, so there. And she can't tell you because you're frankly terrifying."

"I'm not terrifying!"

"You are to her! You look like you either want to kill her or run away or both every time you see her!"

Sherlock hadn't admitted how close this analysis was to the truth. He had tried, but he still felt strange when he was with her.

He was alarmed now, when John said he needed to make sure Scarlet didn't use a whole bottle of shampoo and left the room.

Helen looked at her hands. Sherlock looked at her, looking at her hands.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you for all your help with the party. Scarlet is very excited and so is John. I'd have no idea how to start with that sort of thing."

"Aren't you excited?"

"I'm terrified." He surprised himself with his honesty. He hadn't even admitted this to John, though he suspected John already knew.

"You don't like parties?" she asked him.

"No. Actually parties I don't mind. It's other people I have a problem with."

"Well you seem to get on OK with John and Scarlet."

"They're exceptions. They're exceptional people, you see."

"Yes they are. And I'm honestly happy for you, Sherlock. Scarlet's clearly besotted with you. It's just before... when John said, for a second it felt like it did when I lost Mary. Just for a second, but it was hard. Logically I know that it's better for her to have you as a parent."

Sherlock stared at her, confused. "She'll always, _always_ be Mary's daughter."

"Yes, I know that now. I knew that then, it was just a sudden feeling."

"Well, I hope... Look, Helen, to be frank I'm terrified of the whole thing. She's amazing, but, hell, what if I mess up in some way? What if I do something wrong? The responsibility is huge and though I'm excited... well, I'm terrified."

"Mm. You sound like most other new parents I've known, Sherlock. I think most parents think that at one time or other."

"Really? Why does anyone actually have a child if it feels as terrifying as this?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, do you want to back out?"

"No!" It came out quite loudly. "Sorry. I appear to feel quite strongly about that."

She smiled again. "Also normal for a new parent."

John came back down the stairs and kissed Sherlock on the forehead, rubbing his hand lightly across his shoulders.

"She's out the shower if you want to get ready. We're getting to the point where I'm starting to panic that we'll be late."

"So, half an hour until we're actually going to be late then?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Sherlock smiled at him but left.

Helen got up to leave. "I'll see you at the place, John."

He hugged her tightly. "Thank you again, for everything, Helen. Are you OK? Today I mean?"

"Yes. I was prepared to feel something else, but I'm actually fine. I'll see you there."

John sat down and wondered how he felt about the day. Mostly excited, he decided, and wandered through to brush Scarlet's hair.

oOo

Sherlock followed John and a registrar through the corridors of Westminster Registry Office. Scarlet hopped and skipped along with them. They passed the room they'd been married in. The room where Sherlock was to adopt Scarlet had no flowers or fancy chairs. They were seated on two ratty office chairs in front of an oldish desk covered in chewed Bic biros and envelopes and a computer that looked like it had seen better days. The Registrar offered to find a chair for Scarlet, but she hopped onto Sherlock's lap before he could do so.

John picked up the smart leather briefcase that he'd brought with him. Sherlock had only seen it leave the house once before; on their wedding day. It was surprisingly good quality and expensive looking, and utterly unlike anything else that John owned. The idea that he'd spend close to two hundred pounds on something he wouldn't use daily was extraordinarily out of character. He didn't even take it to job interviews.

Sherlock knew each and every piece of paper it contained and he watched as John took out four birth certificates, three passports, one marriage certificate and one certificate of death. The registrar looked at all of them carefully and nodded, satisfied. Sherlock noticed he had a mustard stain on his tie.

"All of this is in order. Now, I know that you've all had several sessions with social services and I know that they're happy with the situation..."

"One session," Sherlock put in.

"I'm sorry?"

"We only had one session. And it was only twenty-two minutes long. I just wanted you to know in case it puts the adoption in jeopardy."

The registrar smiled. "No, in this sort of case it's really just a formality, but thank you for your candour. As I was saying, I have to ask, Mister Holmes, whether you completely understand what the change in status will be between you and Miss Watson."

"I do."

He smiled again. "This isn't scripted. I often find that it's odd that a marriage has a ceremony and specific legal questions and yet it can be undone almost as easily. For an adoption, which is a commitment for life, when there's a nod from social services, it's a quick signature and you're done. But I like to remind people that it's a contract for life. There's no undoing it, there's no divorce. She might walk away from you, but you can't walk away from her. Amazingly you're not obligated to answer, but I like to ask for my own conscience. Do you understand that commitment?"

Sherlock forgave him the mustard stain.

"Yes. I do."

"Thank you. Now you do have to answer this one. Have you been pushed or coerced into this adoption?"

Sherlock smiled, remembering Scarlet's wheedling, promising him she'd be the best daughter ever and would behave every day.

"No."

"And have you been offered money or any other benefit for adopting Scarlet?"

He remembered John's present to him when he'd agreed.

"No."

"OK, good then. And can I ask you, Scarlet, would you like Mister Holmes to be your Dad?"

"He's already my Dad. This just means everybody else has to think so too."

"Good, well let's get all of this done then shall we?"

He entered various details in the registry, then turned the book around so that Sherlock could sign it. He did so, swirling the 'S' with a flourish. The book was moved across to John, who signed too.

Some details were entered onto the computer, and an ancient printer spat out an official certificate of Adoption, listing Scarlet's name, date, and location of birth, and listing John Watson and Sherlock Holmes as parents 1 and 2. The Registrar signed it at the bottom.

"Congratulations, Mister Holmes, you have a daughter." The registrar handed the certificate over to Sherlock who took it and stared at it for a while. He looked at John who was watching him, with a faintly amused look on his face. Scarlet tried to grab the certificate away and he briefly worried that she'd tear or smudge it, but then he let her have it so that she could read it too.

"Right, thank you," John said, gathering the paperwork up. "Let's put that safely with the others shall we?"

Sherlock snatched it back before he could get his hands on it.

"No, this one's mine."

"We probably shouldn't lose it," John pointed out. "I've already got your passport in here."

"No."

"I can let you have another copy, but I have to charge you seven pounds fifty," the registrar said.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "That would be good." He folded his copy and slipped it into his inside pocket.

They left the offices and got John found them a cab. As they settled into the seats, with Scarlet between them, John reached across her to poke Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Are you OK?"

"Mm, what?"

"You look a bit... dazed."

"Well I have just become a father, John. I recall you not being particularly lucid when it happened to you."

John grinned.

oOo

Sherlock had settled, quite early in the evening, at a table right the corner of the hall, away from the lights and noise and the area he suspected would become a dance floor later on. He watched as Scarlet ran between all the tables playing a game of chase with approximately ten other children, ribbons and hair streaming behind her.

Most people had arranged themselves centrally, close to the food and the noise and they were all chatting eagerly with each other, laughing and smiling. Helen had brought her good camera with her and was taking hundreds of pictures of everyone. John was there too.

The quieter, darker corner seemed to be reserved for people who didn't flourish in a crowd. Sherlock was dispirited to notice that at the moment it only contained him, and Mycroft. Even Molly was laughing with her new husband and Mrs Hudson.

Mycroft appeared to be amusing himself by staring at Sherlock while saying nothing at all. Sherlock thought he was ignoring him quite efficiently, but he was still relieved when Lestrade wandered up towards him and sat down with a beer.

"Sorry, I didn't get one for you."

"It's fine."

"I believe Sherlock has decided not to drink today. Can't think why," Mycroft said.

Sherlock continued to ignore him.

"If you see John coming," Lestrade said, "can you let me know so I can hide for a bit."

Sherlock frowned at him.

"Well, I'm happy to admit that I'm not the most observant person in the room, but even I've picked up on the fact that every single person he's introduced me to just happens to be a single woman."

"Yes, sorry about that. I think you've become a bit of a project for him. It could be worse though. At one point he was thinking of setting you up with him." He nodded across at Mycroft who seemed unmoved.

Lestrade spat a mouthful of beer across the table. "Sorry, sorry!" he said, grabbing a napkin to mop up a touch. "Sorry. Look, I don't mean this disrespectfully, and I have no idea who you are, but no. Just... no."

"Don't worry, I told him you were far too good for him. Here, look." He pulled the certificate out and handed it to Lestrade with a small smile. Lestrade looked up at him.

"You know it's funny..."

"What is?"

"That look on your face right now; that's the exact look that I've seen on the faces of my colleagues when they give me their sonogram pictures to look at. It feels very strange seeing it on you."

Sherlock didn't know what to say to that.

"So which end's the head and which are the feet?"

Sherlock snatched the certificate back. He grinned though.

"So do you feel any different?"

"Yes."

"That makes no sense," Mycroft told him. "I can understand the feeling for new parents when they go from a state of not knowing their child, to suddenly being the sole providers for them, but Scarlet's has essentially the same needs today than she did yesterday."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Mycroft."

"Would you care to explain it to me, Sherlock?"

"Not really. No."

They were interrupted by Scarlet as she charged up to Sherlock, glowing red and hot.

"I feel sick," she told him.

"Well yes, you've eaten three bowls of trifle then run around like a mad thing for half an hour." He rested the back of his hand against her forehead. "You've cooked yourself too. Come and sit down for a bit." He pulled off her cardigan and poured her a glass of water as she climbed onto the seat next to him.

"Are you enjoying your party, Scarlet?" Lestrade asked her.

She nodded in reply. "Are you enjoying it too?" she asked.

"I am. Thank you for inviting me."

"I didn't, but I think Dad did."

"Which Dad?"

"I'm not sure. One of them anyhow. I'm feeling better now." She leapt back up and ran off to bat balloons around.

John approached.

"Shit," said Lestrade. John frowned at him but shook it off.

"Sherlock, we should cut up the cake now. Are you coming?"

"Can't you?"

"Yes, but Helen thought it might make a nice photo. Me, you and Scarlet. And I'm going to say a few words too, and I wondered if you would be there."

"Do I have to?"

John smiled. "No." He tipped Sherlock's head backwards so he could kiss him, then he wandered off again.

"He lets you get away with a lot," Lestrade told him. "Much, much more than Catherine would ever let me get away with."

"I should go up there shouldn't I?"

"Yes," Lestrade told him. Mycroft simply nodded.

"Damn."

In the end he compromised by finding a chair close to the cake, then putting Scarlet on his lap to hide behind.

The hall went quiet, then John spoke.

"I just wanted to thank everyone so much for coming today to help us celebrate, on what is a very important day for our family. I also want to apologise that you didn't get to have a party after the wedding. Sorry. Please understand; I am not to blame for that. Of the two of us, I am _clearly_ the party animal.

"I don't actually have a long speech planned, which will probably be a relief for all of you. Sherlock isn't allowed to speak at all, which will probably be a greater relief. But I did want to share with you how insanely happy I am that our family, mine, Sherlock's and Scarlet's, is finally properly complete in this way.

"Scarlet has inherited so much from Mary. She looks like her, which I think we're all grateful for, and she's also lucky enough to have that same joy and energy that Mary had. Sherlock and I know that she will always be very much Mary's daughter and we know that nothing at all is going to change that. But Sherlock's her Dad. He is every bit as much her father as I am. Yes, part of me is jealous that he managed to achieve that without the nappies and the sleepless nights, but I'm aware that however he got here, he is her Dad now. And although in a lot of ways the piece of paper he has folded in his breast pocket will do nothing to change that, in a lot of other ways, it does.

"And I'm not sure how to end now. Except to say, thank you, again, for coming along to share all of this with us."

Everyone applauded. Scarlet leapt off Sherlock's lap and darted up to John, pulling him down so she could talk to him over the applause.

"Oh, apparently Scarlet would like to say a few words too."

She darted off to get a piece of paper from her bag, and John stood her on a chair. He moved off to stand by Sherlock who rested his forehead against his hip.

"My two Dads by Scarlet Watson." She started. The room went quiet.

"I live with two Dads. This is not as bad as you would think. They are both my Dads, but they are different from each other.

"One is a doctor, and the other is a detective. One has blonde neat hair, and the other has dark messy hair. One has blue eyes, one has grey eyes. One is very tall, and the other is not that short thank you very much.

"One likes Indian food, one likes cake. One likes to sing to me, the other likes to cook with me. One likes football, and one doesn't understand all the fuss about twenty-two people running around with a ball.

"One is very, very, very, very, _very_ clever. And so is the other one. But in most ways they're very different to each other, and that is the way that I like it. I love them both very much, even though only one of them lets me stay up late and eat chocolate spread straight from the jar. So they are very different, but that really is OK. And the best bit is that they both love each other, and they both love me.

* * *

**Sorry, **_**very**_** twee at the end there, but sometimes I do that. **

**Thank you all for the prompts and reminders of previous prompts. This one is of course the adoption which was asked for by... damn it; I can't find it. Sorry, if that was you!**

**The next one will be looking into the story with the ruler, and will also cover the first time John enters Sherlock, so will have both angst and sex. That's a bit odd after today's chapter but it is what it is.**

**It won't be in Sherlock's POV, but will probably be in John's which I'm significantly more comfortable with. Could be something to do with not being able to think like a genius.**

**The one after that will have the return of Billy, and hopefully will get John back to working with Sherlock, so I'll be seeing what kind of fun they can have there.**

**Requests for more Mycroft have been heard and absorbed, but I have no firm plan for that yet, along with more Lestrade, and a retirement chapter. I also find that I want to write more sex, which is something I never thought would happen!**

**Anyhow, thanks all for your continued support.**

**Pip.**


	19. Hands

**First up – thank you for the reviews! I wasn't sure about putting such a cutsie chapter in this one, but it seems to have gone over well. Hurrah!**

**Sin-seer, thank you! Over a hundred hits and you were the first person to notice/mention the Mary/Helen mix up. I try to fix wrong names immediately, so I really am grateful (I'm lazier with the typo and grammar problems unless it's really cringe worthy).**

**Right, a big change in pace for this chapter. Warnings for Big Gay Sex and other assorted Rudies.**

**

* * *

**_The evening following the scan._

In a break from what had become our usual routine, I gave Scarlet her bath, and put her to bed myself. I was a little upset that she refused to let me sing to her. Apparently my voice is wrong. She didn't elaborate; it's just wrong. I was allowed to read her a book.

When I came back into the lounge, Sherlock was sat on the sofa, his hands steepled together, clearly deep in thought.

"You OK?" I asked him.

"Mmm."

"Do you want a drink?"

"Mmm."

"Tea OK?"

"Mmm."

When I came back in with the tea, he hadn't moved. He didn't take the tea from me so I put it on the coffee table in front of him. He didn't acknowledge me in any way.

"Is there anyone in there?" I waved my hand in front of his face.

He didn't move.

As I was still feeling somewhat playful, I leaned into him, and put my face about an inch from the side of his. He did a remarkable job of ignoring me. If he'd have been on a case, I'd have never felt so daring, disturbing him in such a way, but there was something about him that made me think that this was a game now. I leaned closer, being careful not to touch him. He still didn't move. He didn't even blink. It was possible that he hadn't even allowed his pupils to dilate.

I poked my tongue out and licked his temple.

He spun round quickly and kissed me, sucking and nibbling on my bottom lip. I reciprocated for a while, then pushed myself away.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"You're evil."

"Mmm. Drink your tea."

"I don't want tea now. I want John."

"Later. First tell me what you were thinking about."

"No, that will take too long. By the time I've put my thought processes into terms simple enough for you to understand, you'd be old and I won't to shag you any more."

"Haha." I pushed him away again. "What were you thinking about?"

"OK then. Eggs."

"Eggs?"

"Told you you wouldn't understand it."

"Tell me."

He threw himself backwards and sighed. "I was wondering why I'm so horrible."

"You're not horrible!"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, clearly I'm an absolute delight who everyone just misunderstands."

I decided I'd prefer to be snuggling with him for this conversation and I lay down with my head in his lap, looking up at him. He didn't object to this, and placed his hand on my chest. I held it with my own and stroked his fingers.

"Jane thinks you're shy."

"Yes I know, and that theory is completely batshit."

"Batshit?"

"Yes, batshit."

"Meaning?"

"I knew you couldn't understand my superior terminology."

"Batshit?"

"Shit of the highest order of battiness."

I smiled. "So you're completely relaxed in other people's company."

"People are stupid."

"Yes, I know, you've said many times before. That doesn't answer my question though."

He shrugged. "I just don't like people much I suppose."

"Well maybe that's why you're horrible to them."

"Mmm."

"Oh don't start that again."

"John, will you move into Baker Street with me again."

I stopped playing with his fingers for a moment and looked at him. "What?"

"Baker Street. Our flat. Will you move back there. I mean bring Scarlet too."

"Well I could hardly leave her behind."

"So you'll move back then?" I tried to sit up he pushed me back down. "You can answer from there."

"This position is quite distracting for something as important as this."

"It's hardly that important. It's a house that could contain me you and Scarlet if you packed up a few belongings and took them over there."

"This is the only home Scarlet's ever lived in."

"She won't even remember it in a few months."

"Yes I know. This is the flat I lived in with Mary," I told him quietly.

He was silent for a moment. "You see, if I'd have been a nicer person, I'd have anticipated that that it would be painful for you to leave for that reason. As it is I'd just prefer that you weren't living where you were with her, but started living in a place where you've only been with me."

"I don't think that's about you being not nice. That's probably a fairly normal thing for a person to think." I looked up at him. "Can you let me think about it for a few weeks?"

"OK."

I smiled at him and resumed playing with his hand. "Do you get these manicured?" I asked with a smile.

"No!"

"You do, don't you! Look how neat your fingernails are!"

"Just because I don't chew them! Your nails are vile."

"My nails serve an important stress-management purpose."

"They're virtually non-existent."

"Yours don't go with your hands. Your nails are so neat and tidy but your hands are awful. Look at this! This looks like this finger was virtually severed at one point!"

"It was an accident!"

"What did you do?"

"I was testing a pair of wire cutters. I wanted to know if they could sever a finger."

"And the most sensible way to test this was on your fingers?"

"Sensible? No. Authentic? Yes."

"Did it need reattachment?"

"No, I didn't get that far, just a few stitches in the end. It was hardly worth it. Though it did cause Lestrade to get me permission to access to Bart's mortuary. He told me he'd prefer a bit of corpse dismemberment than to keep having to take me to casualty."

"So it was just a time management issue?"

"Yes of course." He frowned. "Do you think he was being nice to me?"

"Yes. I'll admit it's not among the more common gifts to a friend, but I think that yes, he was being nice. And he probably wanted you to not kill yourself if you could help it."

"But that's just because I'm convenient to him." Another frown. "Isn't it?"

"I'm beginning to doubt the 'genius' diagnosis we gave you."

"The scan doesn't lie, John."

"Apart from about the shyness."

"Well yes. That's just batshit."

I looked back at his left hand. "What's this one?"

"Just a burn."

"I can see that. I mean, what caused it? It's neat, and there are two other smaller ones. Splashing. Acid?"

"Good! Yes."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough to know better."

"So..."

"Twelve."

"What's this one here?"

"Fork. Mycroft. Dinner disagreement."

"How old?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen! Really?"

"What of it?"

"Well, he'd have been, what, twenty-six! That's a bit old to have the sort of sibling rivalry that ends with a fork in the hand!"

"No it was fine. He fainted at the sight of the blood and broke his nose. Ultimately, it was worth it."

I kissed the fork-mark and the other scars, then dropped the left hand and turned my attention to the right.

"Jesus, what was this one?" There was a long, curved scar that went right across his hand, from the base of his thumb to just under his little finger.

"Scimitar. Turns out you shouldn't try to catch them."

"Well, no! What on earth made you try?"

"Someone threw one to me and it was reflex."

"Whoever did the stitching was really cack-handed."

"It was the school nurse. They didn't want to take me to casualty again. Social services were beginning to get jumpy."

"One of your school-friends threw a sword at you?"

"No. Not school-friend. School... fellow. Another child. Before you ask, I was sixteen. So was he."

"Why did he have a scimitar at school?"

"I have no idea. I didn't think it was sharp. I was wrong."

I kissed that scar too. "This hand's been better looked after than the other one. It's your dominant hand so I'd expect more savagery, but that's the only one I can see. No, wait a minute, there's another one here. It's old though. What's this?" I traced my finger along the thin, silvery line, just visible across his palm.

"Ruler. I was three."

"How on earth did you injure yourself with a ruler when you were three?"

"I didn't. Father did it. I'd done something... yes, I'd climbed out the study window to go and play with the children I could see in the street. Something happened, I can't remember what. I think I was rude or something. Something had gone wrong anyway. Father came and retrieved me, lectured me for a while about the dangers of playing with dirty, stupid children, then hit my hand with a ruler."

"Your Dad hit your hand with a ruler until it bled?"

"Yes. It didn't take all that long; it was a metal ruler."

"Oh, a metal ruler. That's OK then."

"What? Why are you getting upset? I don't even really remember the pain any more."

"Sherlock, he hit you for playing with some children! That's not OK!" I twisted myself round and sat up so I could see him properly, not letting go of his hand. He looked confused. "Sherlock, you were three and he hit you so badly you scarred. That's not OK. That's... that's abuse!"

"Now you're being melodramatic."

"No I'm not! Jesus, Sherlock. OK, let me ask you this, Scarlet's nearly three, would you ever discipline her by hitting her with a ruler?"

"No, of course not! But it's not the same thing, he was my Father, he was just..."

"No, Sherlock, OK, say you came in one day and you found me hitting Scarlet with a ruler and her hand was bleeding. Would you just sit back and let me do that?"

He didn't answer. He had a sudden look of realisation though. "I don't want to talk about this any more," he told me.

"OK. Yeah, I'm sorry, it's none of my business really."

I sat back on the sofa and stared at the tea, slowly going cold on the coffee table. He squeezed my hand.

"John, it was a long, long time ago. He's been dead for years, and before that he'd pissed off with some other woman and I hadn't seen him for years. Whatever happens, he's not going to do any more damage. I worry. I worry that you and me... we're... this is a relationship isn't it? This is something that's going to go on for some time, which means that I have to know how to be with Scarlet and take care of her, and I have almost no prior knowledge about how that's supposed to work. I don't know the normal way for an adult to behave towards a child in their care. But I do know this; I would never cause her pain for doing something wrong or for making a mistake, and I know that I'd never sit in a room getting pickled on gin while someone else did so either."

I didn't know what to say. I just nodded.

"Please don't pity me," he said to me.

"I don't." He smirked at me. "OK, well it's hard not to. That was a pretty dysfunctional family life you had there. It's difficult not to wish you'd had a happy childhood."

"It's over now. If I'd have had a happy childhood, I probably wouldn't be who I am now, would I? Besides, I still have the opportunity to have a happy adulthood. A very happy adulthood if you get back to the mood you were in before."

"Sherlock..."

"No, I absolutely refuse to have my Father ruin this evening for me. He did a splendid job of making me miserable until I went to boarding school, I'm not having him rob me of a good time now he's gone!"

I half grinned. When he put it like that it seemed almost rude not to have sex with him. I turned to face him again and I kissed him. My hands were resting on his shoulders, and I knew my kiss was calm and gentle, but he quickly grabbed hold of handfuls of my hair, pulling me to him, taking hold of my lip again. He sucked hard along my jaw and bit my neck. While I knew it wouldn't leave a mark, I understood that he was indicating he didn't want calm, sedate, gentle sex just because his Dad had been mean to him over thirty years before.

While I partly disagreed with that sentiment, it was difficult not to respond physically.

I started unbuttoning his shirt.

"You wear too many shirts," I grumbled at him, undoing each button and kissing the newly exposed flesh.

"Only one at a time."

"Stupid buttons."

"You can tear it if you want."

"Waste."

I finished the buttons and started on his trousers, pulling them down. I kissed around his hips, licking downwards around the top of his leg. I knew this tickled him and he squirmed and grinned, relaxing into me.

I grinned and licked his penis into my mouth, feeling it lengthen and harden. He sighed, but then he pulled me up so he could kiss my face again. He kissed me and held my face close to his. "John, I want you inside me."

I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and my left one down his back and I held him while I kissed him. So far, sex had been exclusively him entering me. He'd offered, early on, but I found I wasn't ready for this and this was the first time he'd suggested it since. We'd played and experimented with him inside me in various positions, and I'd enjoyed all of this and hadn't felt anything else was lacking. It almost hadn't occurred to me that he'd want us to switch to the other way around.

He pushed me away slightly. "Sorry. I mean, when you're ready."

I nodded and went back to kissing him, unable to really process what he meant by this. I was excited by the idea.

"Here?"

"No, bedroom."

"No, here." There was no real reason apart from it being closer.

"No. Bedroom." He pushed me off then pulled me behind him into the bedroom. He didn't let go of me but pulled the duvet aside and pulled me down on top of him. Lying underneath me, he stripped my t-shirt off. I finally managed to get his shirt off, and tried to pull his trousers and shorts off in one move, the way he had to me on our first time. I failed, obviously, and got stuck around his ankles, but he shoved me over and kicked himself free.

I removed my own trousers much more efficiently.

"Here." He pulled me towards him and used his hands to harden me properly, while kissing around my neck.

It didn't take him long.

"Should I wear a condom?"

"No."

"Lube?"

"Yes." Without turning from me he reached his bedside table, grabbed a bottle and handed it to me.

I spilled a fairly large amount on the bed, but chose not to mention this. I anointed myself, and having rather to much I rubbed more along his arse crack, smiling as he shivered and sighed. He bent his knees and curled himself so that I could reach him properly.

Sherlock was looking exceptionally inviting. I eased myself tentatively into him.

I looked up at him, and he was smiling down at me. It distracted me, but only for a moment. I moved forwards, putting my hands on top his, at either side of his head. He suddenly gripped me tightly.

"OK?" I asked.

"Hell yes."

I smirked and continued. I could hear him occasionally muttering happy sounding noises but mostly I lost myself in the job in hand. I stopped being tentative. It's possible I also stopped being gentle, but if I did, he didn't complain. When I came I held virtually fell on him, my head wend down onto his chest and my hands gripped him tightly. I rested until I'd got my breath back, then withdrew. I moved myself up so that I could kiss him again. I could feel he was still hard against me.

"Do you want...?"

"No. Use your hands. Stay up here where I can see you."

I grinned and obliged. I played until he came. He shot, hot and sticky between us. I kissed him while he was still throbbing and panting, feeling his breath, unsteadily from his nose, on my face.

We lay there for a moment. Only a moment though. Sherlock had an annoying habit of getting up and cleaning himself almost immediately after sex. Sometimes he instantly showered, complaining that he couldn't sleep when he was sweaty and sticky. He launched himself up now and disappeared off to the bathroom. I lay, spread out on his side of the bed and waited for him to come back.

He was brief tonight, returning after a quick wash down, wearing his pyjamas as he always did, and he got into my side. He frowned.

"What's on the... did you spill the lube?"

"A bit. Doesn't matter. I'll sort it in the morning."

"No, get up and I'll change the sheet now."

"No. You can't, I'm already asleep."

"Get up."

"No."

He pushed, poked and tickled until I fell giggling from the bed.

"You can sleep down there if you want."

I curled up on the duvet and pretended to do so while listening to him changing the bed.

"I've finished, but you're not allowed back in."

I scurried back on and pretended to sleep again, while grinning.

"Here, you need to take your pills."

I groaned but sat up to take them from me. He watched me, smiling as he did so.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just. I love you. That's all."

We snuggled closer into each other and slowly fell asleep.


	20. Trees

**Odd one this. The first part was planned because I was intrigued by Billy and because I wanted to get John back to working with Sherlock (prompted by M, way back). The second part was not so much a prompt but a challenge that came up in conversation with Verity, where I wondered whether I could write sex which was just sex. No distractions or conversations, as is my usual style, just an intense sexual experience. To me, it feels a bit like it starts one thing, but becomes another entirely. Anyhow, see what you think.**

**

* * *

**_This one is about six months after Shot 3, so Scarlet is still seven and it's November. _

John and Scarlet had been sat at the kitchen table for what seemed like hours. John couldn't remember when the argument had started, nor could he see an end in sight.

"Come on, Scarlet, if you'd have just started your homework when I'd first said, you'd be finished by now."

"But it's English," she said for the hundredth time.

"I know. I will help you with it."

"But Sherlock helps me with English."

"I know, but he's not here, and I am, so let's just get it done."

"But it's _English_," she explained, in the tone Sherlock usually reserved for the hard of thinking.

"Please just do it."

"But _Sherlock_ helps me with _English."_

John grabbed the homework sheet and put it in front of her. "OK, look, it's easy. You just need to underline the verbs."

She dropped her pencil on the table and sat back on her chair, pouting. John clenched his fists under the table.

"Pick up the pencil and underline the verbs. Do it now."

She picked up her pencil and started underlining random words on the page. John watched her for a moment.

"Scarlet, do you know what a verb is?"

"Doing word."

"OK, so why have you underlined 'cat'? Have you ever catted? Do I ever cat?"

She shrugged. The remaining ounce of John's patience left him.

"OK, fine," he took away her worksheet and pencil. "Don't do your homework, go upstairs to bed instead."

"Can't I wait for Dad to come home?"

"No. Go to bed now please."

"But he's reading my book with me."

John offered her one last chance. "OK, here's the deal, if you go upstairs, get into your pyjamas and brush your teeth without another word of argument, I will come up and read your book with you."

"But Sherlock's reading my book with me! It's The Three Musketeers!"

"Well he's not here! I can read, Scarlet! I am quite capable of reading a book with you! In fact, you're more than capable of reading by yourself!"

"I _am_ reading some, then he reads some, then I read some more. We're reading it _together."_

"Well you can read it together with me!"

"But I'm reading it with _Sherlock._"

"Oh just go to bed, Scarlet, I've had enough!" he got up and walked into the lounge, away from her, to calm down.

She watched him for a moment, trying to decide on her next course of action. She wisely decided to go up to bed. She was about to go up the stairs when she heard the front door go and was instantly distracted.

"Dad! You're home!" She ran lightly down the stairs, leaping on to him when she got to the bottom. Billy had come in after him and he watched her with a smile.

"Careful!" Sherlock told her. "Careful, Scarlet, I've got..."

"It's a puppy! It's a puppy! Can we keep it! Please!"

"Well, I can't see anyone else about to look after her."

"Yeeeeeeee!" Scarlet skipped and clapped her hands. "John's always said no before!"

She turned and dashed back up the stairs. "Dad! Dad! Sherlock's got us a dog!"

John was waiting for her on the landing. She cowered slightly at the sight of his cross face.

"I told you it was bedtime."

"Bit early isn't it?" Sherlock asked as he came up behind her. "Billy's hurt his arm, can you take a look? I thought Scarlet could help me with the puppy."

She smirked slightly as she darted past John into the lounge. John glared at Sherlock.

"There are hospitals you know!"

"And hospitals have waiting lists. Are you busy now? No?" He stepped past John and joined Scarlet in the lounge, leaving John looking at an embarrassed Billy.

"It's fine," Billy murmured. "I can get it checked at A and E if you'd rather..."

John sighed and cursed himself. "No, Billy, it's fine. I'm sorry, come into the kitchen."

"No, I really can go..."

John rolled his eyes and pulled him bodily into the kitchen, and rolled back Billy's sleeve. It was a nasty graze, the full length of his forearm, deep in places and ragged and dirty. It was not worthy of a hospital's attention though.

"No big problem here." He gave Billy a tight smile. "I'll get this cleaned up in ten minutes."

As he got to work, he listened to the conversation drifting out from the lounge.

"What shall we call it?"

"Perhaps we should wait until she's a bit more settled to give her a name."

"Is it a girl dog?"

"She is."

"Another girl in the house! She's very dirty."

"Mm. Should we give her a bath?"

"No, don't!" John called from the kitchen. "You'll terrify her and probably freeze her too. Go and get a wet towel and get the worst off with that, then wipe her down immediately with a dry towel. Do it in front of the fire."

Sherlock got up to get one and John called to him on his way past the kitchen.

"Don't use the good towels!"

Sherlock stopped. "We have good towels?"

"Yes. Look in the airing cupboard, somewhere near the bottom you'll find a ratty old purple one. Use that and find a second one that looks similar."

"Similar in relation to colour, size or texture."

John looked up at him. "Engage your common sense will you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock left and John turned his attention back to Billy's arm. He'd finished cleaning it, and had put sterile pads over the worst parts, then he started wrapping it securely in a bandage.

"How did this happen?"

"I fell against a wall. I think I bother him when I'm out with him. He starts off saying how it will be fun, and seems really eager for me to be there, but then as soon as I am he acts like I'm in the way and a nuisance."

"Yeah, he's just like that. I'm sure he appreciates you really."

"I think he thinks I'm clumsy."

"No, no," John said, knowing that this was precisely what Sherlock thought.

"I'm not clumsy really. I'm fine everywhere else, but when he's around... Well, it's difficult not to worry that I'll mess up somehow, and then I always do."

John tied off the bandage and smiled at him. "This will be good as new in a couple of days. And Billy, you don't have to go off with him if you don't want to."

"I know. It's just... he seems so eager at first. He's hard to say no to."

John shrugged. "Well, I don't know what can be done about that."

Sherlock came back downstairs and held two towels aloft. "What about these two?"

John smiled. "Those two are fine, Sherlock."

Sherlock pushed past Billy to run one of the towels under the tap. Billy got up to leave.

"See you then," he said, sounding hopeful.

John waited for Sherlock to speak but he didn't. "I'm sure we'll see you soon. Bye then." When he heard the door downstairs close, John turned back to Sherlock. "I really wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Ignore people when they're talking to you. Don't ignore Billy! He's been helping you on a case, the least you could do is say goodnight."

"I'm not sure I'd class it as 'helping'."

Sherlock went through to Scarlet and the puppy and he sat down on the floor with them. He gathered it from her lap and started trying to wipe the dirt from her fur. John looked down at Scarlet and sighed.

"You've made a mess of your school skirt."

"I couldn't help it! She's really dirty! Can we call her Twinkle?"

"No," Sherlock told her.

"Look, I think it's a bit forward to name her," John started. "I'm really not convinced we'll be keeping her..."

"But Sherlock said!" she protested.

"Yes, and Sherlock and I will have a conversation about it later. In the meantime, I told you to go to bed."

"Now?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, now. She's been argumentative, annoying and she wouldn't do her homework."

"Scarlet!"

Scarlet plucked at her sleeve, not looking at either of them for a moment.

"It's fine, " John said, "she'll just have to waste Saturday morning doing it properly instead. It's bedtime now though."

Sherlock continued wiping the dog down, considering all of this information.

"John's right, Scarlet. You need to go up to bed. And you should have told me when I came in."

"I told you," John pointed out.

"I was distracted. I'll read your book with you, Scarlet, but it's bedtime now."

"What about Sparkle?"

They frowned at her.

"The dog's name!" she explained.

"Oh. No. Come on. Bed."

Sherlock handed the dog over to John who took it fairly willingly and continued the cleaning process. When he'd dried her off, he picked her up and held her up to look at more closely. She was big eyed, long eared with a longish coat. Somewhere in her ancestry, spaniels featured heavily. She was still quite dirty but appeared to be mostly black and white. She was skin and bones.

"Well it's hardly your fault, is it?" John told her gently. He dried her off with the second towel, then carried her in the crook of his arm into the kitchen. He'd cooked a shepherd's pie for dinner, and he spooned some of Sherlock's portion onto a saucer and carried it back into the lounge.

The puppy seemed a bit clueless at first, bewildered and shivering, but when John dipped his fingers in the food, she was able to lick it from his fingers. He only had to do this a couple of times before she was suddenly quite eager to lick the plate clean.

When she'd finished, John picked her up and put her on his lap. He was leaning with his back against the armchair, and his legs stretched out towards the fireplace. He continued to stroke the dog until she stopped quivering and settled down to sleep on his lap. He was still petting her when Sherlock came back in.

"So, we'll be keeping the dog then," he said with a slight smirk.

John sighed and shook his head. "We'll see."

Sherlock sat down on an armchair and looked down at him. "John, are you OK at the moment?"

John frowned. "I'm fine. What do you mean?"

"You seem... down. You seem angry a lot. I was just wondering..."

John thought about this. "Do you mean just tonight or regularly?"

"Well, tonight was particularly obvious. But I'd say... for maybe two months."

"Oh. Well, today's been a bad day. A bad staff meeting following some fairly crappy consultation exercise, then Scarlet being particularly obnoxious after school, then..."

"Then me walking in with a puppy you've said no to for years."

"Yes, and..."

"What?"

"And Billy."

"Billy? I thought you liked Billy!"

"I do! I like him, he's a nice boy; when he starts talking he's quite interesting but..."

"What?"

"He reminds me that I'm going to stupid staff meetings and I'm on boring committees and powerless working groups working for spineless senior management. He reminds me that somewhere, while I'm doing that, and battling a seven year old to bed, and washing up, other people are... fighting crime and solving mysteries. It's stupid. I know it's just jealousy, but there you go. I just wish you weren't spending so much time with him," he finished quietly.

Sherlock watched him for a moment, as it sat there, stroking the sleeping puppy. "John, you know that I'm not attracted to Billy, don't you?"

"No! No of course not." John looked up at him quickly and blushed, and Sherlock knew that the thought had crossed his mind.

"I'm not, John. He's nice enough, but not like that."

"Well, you haven't exactly been interested in me of late."

Sherlock frowned. "No, I haven't stopped being interested in you, you've stopped being interested in sex."

"No I haven't!" John protested. Then he thought about it. It had been a while since he'd been properly in the mood.

Sherlock stared at him for a while.

"John, why don't you leave your job? It's not like we need the money."

"Yep. Thanks for valuing my work so highly, Sherlock."

"For heaven's sake, John, will you stop being so damned sensitive? I value what you do, but you've just described it as stupid and boring and powerless! And I'm saying that if it's making you feel rubbish about yourself, which it clearly does, why don't you just stop doing it? If that's the decision you want to make, I support it! If you want to retrain, I'd support that too! The only thing you could do that I wouldn't support would be re-enlisting but that's because I prefer you here rather than somewhere abroad being shot at!"

John looked down at the dog. "Sorry. Yes, I know. Sorry." He sighed deeply. "I just don't know whether to stick it out. What would I do if I gave it up? I wouldn't want to sit around here all day, that's for sure."

"You could reapply for your job with me."

John smiled at this. "As your assistant?"

"As my _invaluable_ assistant."

John smiled and shook his head again. "What about Billy?"

Sherlock groaned. "That boy is a liability!"

"He doesn't mean to be."

"I know! I just don't care. I like him, he's strangely interesting, but I don't want to be responsible when someone kills him, or he kills himself when trying to stop someone else killing him! And while he's strangely interesting, he's also mostly boring."

John laughed. "You intimidate him."

"How? I just don't understand it! I try to be friendly but..."

"But it comes across as intense and he's intimidated."

"You were never intimidated."

"No. Well, that's because I'm brilliant too, so wasn't concerned by your brilliance."

Sherlock snorted and smiled at him. "So, will you leave your job?"

John shrugged in reply.

"So can we keep the dog?"

"If we are going to, then you'll have to go out now to get some puppy food and a collar and a lead from the 24-hour Tesco. And we're not calling her Twinkle or Sparkle."

Sherlock grinned. "I'll go now."

oOo

Over the next week, the puppy slowly decided she was John's dog. She liked Scarlet and Sherlock well enough, but she was quite clearly John's. He named her.

"Scout."

"Scout? That's a stupid name!" Scarlet protested. "It's not even a girl's name! It's a boy's name!"

"It's a girl's name, Scarlet. You need to read more literature. Besides which; she's a dog."

"But! But! What about Glitter? Or Rainbow?"

"I'm not calling her something that I'd be embarrassed to yell across Regent's Park."

"Sherlock, tell him!"

"Actually I quite like Scout."

She had crossed her arms, stamped her feet and pouted, but Scout became Scout.

The first couple of days Scout had been bewildered by the idea of going for walks on a lead, and had tried to hide behind John's legs and had sat down to be pulled along, confused. He'd ended up carrying her to the park in his pocket. After a couple of days she'd realised that she did actually really like the concept and as soon as the word "walk" was said she'd be up and at the door, shaking with anticipation. If John made a move towards the door, she'd be up like a shot to follow him wherever he was going.

John's lap was now Scout's lap. He came to snuggle on the sofa with Sherlock one evening, and Scout leapt onto him as soon has his bum had hit the cushion.

"I'd never have agreed to keep you if I'd have known it meant I had to share," Sherlock told her sternly.

She sneezed in his face.

"Nice."

John had also resigned his job. His mood improved almost immediately. It improved further when Sherlock got a call from Lestrade and tentatively suggested that John came with him. John was using up some annual leave and he allowed himself to think of the practicalities for perhaps three seconds before he agreed.

The case was average. Odd, obviously, but fairly solvable for Sherlock. John was aware of being peered at, curiously, by the standard police at the scene of the crime. He was aware that he was three steps behind Sherlock's thought process, but quickly fell into his usual role of being talked at. He felt the thrill of experiencing Sherlock's intelligence the way he had when they had first met each other. It had not reduced with time. Now, however, it was most definitely mingled with another emotion and he found himself needing to walk away to calm himself down.

If Sherlock felt the same he didn't show it. He was his usual insufferable self, condescending, drifting off mid sentence, refusing to explain himself and dashing off just when John thought they were getting somewhere.

John followed, of course. The only moment he'd felt anything other than exhilarated was when he gently suggested that he needed to go and collect Scarlet from school. Sherlock had rolled his eyes and tutted. John had felt momentarily disappointed, but he hadn't commented and had simply left. He'd collected Scarlet, fed her, got her ready for bed, then called Billy and his girlfriend, Emma and begged them to babysit. Scarlet was left awake with the strict instructions that she was to behave, and could have one story before bed. He hadn't missed the look in her eyes as she eyed her sitters up, clearly calculating exactly how much she could get away with.

Sherlock had texted John with instructions to meet him at an address in Wimbledon and he dutifully turned up in a cab. He found Sherlock stood in-between the street-lamps staring at a house opposite.

"Our doppelganger is in that house there," he said, by way of welcome.

"Shouldn't the police be here then?"

Sherlock looked at him with a wicked grin. "Dull."

John felt his breath catch and a tug, deep in his belly.

"Shall we knock?" Sherlock asked him.

John nodded and followed. They'd just got to the front door when Sherlock caught him by the arm and stopped him.

"There!" he said and pointed. There was a shadowy figure emerging from an alleyway, two houses down. The figure looked in their direction briefly, then turned and ran. Sherlock was after him instantly, and John was, of course, straight after Sherlock.

After three minutes, John decided he didn't even care about the criminal. The chase was the thing, and he'd run after Sherlock anywhere, just for the sake of running. After eight minutes he wished he'd kept himself in slightly better training.

The distance between them grew, but John was still close enough to see when the quarry stumbled and Sherlock was suddenly on him. There was a brief struggle, but it was harmless and Sherlock quite ably held the man still. John called the police and they waited, panting and not saying anything until a patrol car arrived.

"Inspector Lestrade said to ask if you wanted to come in too," they uniformed policewoman told him.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it's done now." As the police car drove away, he looked up at John with a smile. "Well, that's that then. Home?"

John, still panting slightly shook his head. "Not yet," was all he said, and then he walked back across the road. Sherlock frowned but followed him.

He followed John towards the dark, looming common, and continued following him as he started crossing it, heading to where there was a small but dense woodland.

"Fancied a walk?" Sherlock asked but John just smiled and kept walking.

He kept walking, with Sherlock a pace behind him, until trees surrounded them, and they were several meters away from the main path through the copse. He turned round to face Sherlock, his eyes dancing and flashing in the darkness.

"God you're stunning," he said, before pushing Sherlock against a tree and kissing him, holding on tightly to his head. Sherlock accepted the compliment and kissed back, his gloved hands slipping inside John's jacket, pulling him towards him.

John didn't need to be led. He thrust himself into Sherlock desperately and eagerly. He could feel himself throbbing and constrained. His hands were inside Sherlock's coat and he continued kissing, sucking on Sherlock's tongue as he stroked around to the small of his back where he started pulling the shirt from his trousers. As soon as there was room his hands went up inside the shirt so he could press them against Sherlock's bare and clammy flesh. He slipped his fingers downwards, trying to get past Sherlock's belt and waistband.

Sherlock withdrew his own hands from John so he could undo himself. As soon as he had done so, John's hands went downwards, grasping Sherlock's buttocks, playing over his crack. He kept pressing himself firmly against him. His kisses moved downwards, over Sherlock's jaw and neck. Sherlock's own hands hung loosely by his sides as he just absorbed all of these sensations.

John kissed and sucked over Sherlock's neck and down as far as he could towards his collar, breathing in Sherlock's beautiful scent. Sherlock's head dropped slightly and John caught hold of and sucked his earlobe.

Sherlock sighed and groaned. "Now, now. Now."

John slipped the long, woollen coat off and dropped it onto the ground and he spun Sherlock around so he had his back to him and he undid his own trousers. Sherlock held onto the tree for dear life as John pushed hard, over and over, his nose in the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck, breathing hotly in the cold night air. He continued thrusting, feeling the joy and warmth of being inside Sherlock's body, holding the tree too, until he came. The noise he made when he did so was half a yell and half a groan. It was utterly primal and it came from the heart.

"Holy fuck, holy fuck…" Sherlock repeated in a whisper.

John's hand slipped downwards, taking hold of Sherlock, and he stood there, resting his head between Sherlock's shoulders as he jerked him off. He tried to be careful so that Sherlock wouldn't get overly messy, but he was too spent to care that much.

They stood there for a moment, Sherlock still holding the tree, with John resting against him, his arms around him. Doing nothing other than being close to each other.

It was maybe ten minutes later when Sherlock spoke. "It's getting cold."

"Yeah, well that's your excuse."

John let him go and picked up his coat, brushing it down slightly before handing it over. They buttoned and straightened themselves before they walked silently, but hand in hand to find a cab.

When they were in the light, John noticed a graze on Sherlock's forehead and almost felt guilty for pushing against him so hard. Almost.

Sherlock found dried leaves in his pocket when they were half way home, but he silently put them back where he'd found them. John stared out of the window.

They were nearly home when John finally came back down to Earth and turned to Sherlock.

"So… as job interviews go, do you think I might have got the assistant's job?"

Sherlock chucked to himself for a while. After a moment he turned to John with a look of epiphany. "It was probably because I was slightly down a hill!"

John frowned as he tried to work out what Sherlock was talking about. The realisation came and he smacked him lightly. "Sherlock! I am not. That. Short!"

They fell laughing out of the cab, and went back into the house to resume family life for a while.


	21. School

_Scarlet is eleven. It's a hot day in late September._

"We need a bigger sofa," John said. He was lying with his eyes closed, side by side and head to foot with Sherlock, while Sherlock stroked his feet and read a magazine.

"This one's fine. Plenty of room."

"So speaks the man who's not intending to buy a new sofa."

"Too right."

"But it's so _hot!_ I can't lie this close to you in all this heat. I'm sweating everywhere."

"Move the dog."

"The dog's fine. The sofa's too small."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Sherlock, door."

"Yes. I should answer it if I was you."

"It'll be for you."

"You can show whoever it is up to me then."

There was another knock.

"I don't want to speak to anyone," John said. "If you don't want your client to leave, you'd better answer the door." He rolled, with difficulty, onto his side so he was facing the cushions. Scout snuggled next to him, looking hot.

Sherlock smiled at them both, indulgently and got up to go and answer the door. The official he found stood on the doorstep was just writing a note for him, but she looked up and smiled.

"Are you the father of Scarlet Watson?" she asked. She was a cheerful looking, middle-aged woman in a cheap suit and with badly fitting shoes.

"I'm _a_ father of Scarlet Watson, yes."

"My name is Carol Jenson from Westminster Social Services. I'm on the truancy team."

Sherlock stared at her blankly.

"I wanted to pop round and have a quick word with you about Scarlet."

"Why?"

Her smile didn't falter. "Mr Watson, can I ask, are you aware your daughter hasn't been at school for the past three weeks?"

"It's Mr Holmes. And she's at a new school now; she's gone to… what's it called? John would know."

"She was registered to start at Hunting Harlow Senior this term, but so far she's only been registered attending there on five days."

"Maybe they just don't recognise her yet."

The smile still didn't falter. "Perhaps if I could come in and talk to you and Mr Watson."

"_Doctor_ Watson." Sherlock stared at her for another few seconds, but then opened the door widely and stood aside so she could enter.

"Are we upstairs?" she asked, brightly.

"We are." He followed her up.

John was still curled up on the sofa when they got up to the flat, but Scout leapt up to show her usual level of excitement about a stranger. As she leapt over him, John turned around to see who had come in.

"Oh what a lovely doggy you are!" Carol said, making a huge fuss over Scout.

"John, this woman is from Social Services," Sherlock told him.

John instantly stood up, looking extremely alarmed and desperately wishing he'd changed from pyjamas already, but he shook the hand Carol offered him.

"I know that the name Social Services strikes the fear of God into people, but we honestly are just here to help. I just wanted to pop round to try to get some background from you."

"Why us?" John asked her.

"Scarlet hasn't been going to school," Sherlock told him.

"What? Where the hell is she then?"

"Not at school." Sherlock gave him a look.

"Did you know?"

"No. Though in retrospect, it makes sense."

"In retrosp… What? It doesn't make any sense at all! She's at school! She's quite obviously at school."

"Mr Watson…"

"_Doctor_ Watson," Sherlock said again.

"Sorry. Doctor Watson, it is of course possible that a mistake has been made, but at the moment, evidence seems to suggest that Scarlet isn't at school. Now it's quite clear that you aren't keeping at her at home for any reason either. Obviously this is a concern to the school and to us at Children's Services too…"

"Wait a minute, if the school are so concerned, why didn't they pick up the phone and call me? Why is the first occasion that we've heard any of this when you've turned up at the door?"

Carol seemed wrong-footed slightly. "It is more usual for the school to contact first. Occasionally they don't for some reason, let me see if they've given me a note…" She perched on an armchair to get the file out of her bag. It was a cheap, red cardboard file with the name Scarlet Watson written on it in marker pen. There wasn't much inside, and nothing that was remotely helpful.

"No, sorry, just the school asked for us to make contact with you. Nothing about why they hadn't done so themselves. Sorry. Now, can I ask you a little about Scarlet?"

"Yes of course," John said, looking horrified. He sank down onto the sofa again.

"This is Scarlet's permanent residence is it?"

"Yes, she lives here."

"And does she have contact hours or visitation with any other family members?"

"No. She's ours. She lives here with us."

"OK, and have there been any issues previously with her attending school."

"No. She goes to school every day. She's had 100% attendance certificates for at least four of the years she was at St Matthews! She was off a lot of last year but she needed…" He trailed off.

"Scarlet had an accident last year and was hospitalised for a while," Sherlock put in. "She needed quite a lot of therapy afterwards but she was in school as often as she could be. Even if I had to be there with her she went in when she could."

"So she hasn't given you any indication that there has been any trouble or difficulty at school."

"No!" John noticed Sherlock wince and suddenly stare at the floor. "What?"

"Nothing. But she hasn't seemed happy lately."

"What do you mean? What are you talking about? Of course she's happy!"

"No, there's been something wrong. I can't believe I hadn't noticed before. I thought she was just tired and overwhelmed from starting a new school, and then she got better again. Now I think about it, it could have been something beyond tiredness."

"What?"

"I don't know. She was there Thursday and Friday and she was fine. Excited. Monday and Tuesday, less excited but fine, Wednesday not fine. Something happened on Tuesday. She was nervous and subdued for a week or so. Then fine again. She's not herself though. She's not full of energy at the moment."

John stared at him. "She's tired from school!"

"She hasn't been at school, John!"

Carol had been ignored during this conversation, and she'd just watched the two of them. As they fell silent, still staring at each other, she smiled at them again.

"Look, I'm sorry, this has clearly been a shock to both of you. It's not actually that unusual during the first term of Senior school and most of the time the school can resolve any issues that the child might have. Can I make the following suggestion? When Scarlet comes home, ask her about it directly. Let's see if we can work out what's going on. Tomorrow, give me a call and update me, and we can work from there." She fished a card out of her wallet and handed it to John.

"Is that it?" he asked her. "We have no idea where my daughter is right now, or what the hell's going on with her! And your advice is to 'talk to her?' You do know about her aphasia don't you? You do know how difficult it is for her to talk to anyone?"

"Doctor Watson, I can stay if you want, but I don't think that having a stranger present is going to make it any easier for Scarlet to speak. I can and will help mediate if you choose, but it sounds to me like this is very out of character behaviour for Scarlet. She has two committed and interested parents, who can probably resolve any issues with her themselves, without her being stressed by having to discuss anything with a stranger. Like I say, I could stay with you if you prefer, and certainly if Scarlet can't explain her truancy to you for herself, of if she can't tell you where she's been, or if there are any other adults involved, then I will indeed get involved. But at the moment, let's just see what she has to say, shall we?"

John deflated. "Yes. Yes, thank you. You're right. We'll talk to her. God, I wonder where she is."

"Well, from what you've said, she appears to be coming home every day at the right sort of time, so that's a start. I would like a phone call from you tomorrow though. I'm in the office until ten-thirty, but I have to start making my rounds then."

"I'll call you at nine. I promise."

She shook hands with him again, and with Sherlock, petted Scout again, then let herself out.

John sat on the sofa for a while, staring into space. Sherlock watched him.

"Where do you think she is?" John asked, looking up at him.

"I don't know."

"God, what if she's out with someone… bad. What if she's been groomed?"

"Groomed?"

"Yes, groomed. She's easily lead, Sherlock, and she's naive. She doesn't expect people to be evil!"

"John, it's a bit dangerous to hypothesise without facts."

"For fuck's sake, Sherlock, she's not a case!"

"I know that. But you're getting hysterical."

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm just concerned."

"I am too, but there's nothing we can do about it for now. Should we take Scout to the park for a bit?"

"No."

"John, if it helps I think that it's much more likely that she's found school more stressful than she anticipated, and that's caused her speech to wander and she's struggling with that."

"Why wouldn't she just have told us that?"

"I don't know."

The both had a suspicion though. They both knew that the time following Scarlet's accident had put more strain on the two of them, and on their relationship, than any other event during their time together. And the both knew that try as they might; they hadn't been able to hide their arguments and the tension between them from Scarlet.

The two men sat in the lounge, each haunted by fears about Scarlet being missing, about not knowing what was going on in her life, wondering whether truancy was perfectly normal behaviour for her now, wondering whether they could cope with another stress coming between them, just when they were slowly getting back to normal.

oOo

Scarlet walked in the door and bounded up the stairs with her usual level of noise and enthusiasm. She walked straight into the kitchen, where both Dads were at the table, drinking tea.

"I'm home!" she told them pointlessly. "Is there… hungry?"

It had taken John ages to learn not to correct her automatically. He'd felt deeply inadequate watching Sherlock suddenly displaying an endless supply of patience that he'd never shown before, never once giving up, or getting frustrated with her.

"No, sorry, love, I haven't thought about dinner yet. Come and sit down for a second though."

"What's… sun… sun… wrong?"

"It's OK, Scarlet, you don't need to be worried." Sherlock smiled at her, hoping to be reassuring. He'd spent quite a lot of time with Scarlet and Jane as they tried to straighten out Scarlet's verbal processes. He'd picked up quite quickly that her brain was somehow mapping colours to emotions to fill in the language blanks, and he'd worked out that yellow related to anxiety and stress. Red was for complete, full on, terror. Blue was contentment, but they hardly saw that. John worried about this but Sherlock pointed out that when she was calm and content, she could talk almost normally.

They waited as Scarlet sat down with them. It wasn't lost on either of them that she was refusing to meet their eyes. She knew that she'd been caught.

"Scarlet, why haven't you been going to school?" John asked her.

"I, I, I… have!"

"No you haven't Scarlet, we know you haven't been there."

She blushed and stared at the table.

"Why haven't you been going in? We're not angry…"

"We're a bit angry," Sherlock pointed out.

"Well perhaps, but mostly we're worried. Did something go wrong?"

Scarlet continued staring at the table.

John sighed. "Can you tell us where you've been?"

She spent some time focusing. "Book place. Lee, lee, grey…"

"It's OK, Scarlet, calm down. We can wait," Sherlock said to her. He reached over to put his hand over hers. She looked shocked and shrank away from him.

Even John noticed this. "Scarlet what the hell's going on with you?"

"John…" Sherlock gently warned him.

"No! No I'm sorry this isn't the time for…" he forced himself to break off and bit back his impatience. "No, sorry. I'm sorry Scarlet. Have you been at the library?"

She nodded.

"Why did you go there?"

She shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Scarlet. I can wait for you, I promise, but do you think you can try to tell me?"

She sighed. "Books. To read. I want oranges. I want oranges… to learn."

"Scarlet, most people go to school to learn," Sherlock pointed out, smiling.

"I can't. It's… it's… it's…" She stopped trying and the tears that had been threatening started to fall.

"Scarlet!" John got up and went to crouch by chair. "Scarlet, I know this is hard, but please can you try? Please?" He pulled her into a hug and held her for a little while.

"Red, red, red…" Scarlet whispered into his shoulder. "I love you. I do. But they were… they were tomatoes, tom… no, they were… I didn't, didn't…"

John stroked her back, trying to keep her calm and he looked across at Sherlock. Sherlock pulled his chair closer to them.

"Scarlet, on the Tuesday after you started school did someone frighten you?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Who was it?"

"Boys. Older boys."

"Can you tell me what they did?"

She shook her head,

"Scarlet, please can you try? We can't… John and I can't help you if we don't know what's gone on."

"You can't."

"We want to try."

She shook her head.

"Was it to do with…" John started but Sherlock cut him off.

"John we can't lead her. This is complicated enough. Please Scarlet… I promise we won't be angry. I absolutely promise you we won't be upset or hurt by anything you tell us, but we need to know."

She swallowed and stood up away from John. They watched as she calmed herself down. "They said… about you…red… get… gay."

"Scarlet you know we're gay," John said. "You know not everyone thinks it's OK. People's are idiots, remember?" He smiled at her.

She didn't smile back. "I know."

"Did they say anything else?"

"Yes. They said…" She blushed furiously. John got the impression that even without aphasia she'd be struggling to get this sentence out. She closed her eyes and concentrated. "They said, you take… take." She stopped and bit her lips for a while then tried to continue. "They said, you take red… it… up… red…"

John breathed deeply sat back down. "It's OK, Scarlet, I understand. You don't have to say."

She stood there, bright red and crying hard and John pulled her onto his lap and hugged her again.

"Scarlet, do you know what that means?" Sherlock asked her.

She nodded. "Serene said. You… you put your… you put…"

"It's OK," he said. "You don't have to say."

She pulled away from John to look at Sherlock. "You… you… you…"

"Scarlet, you need to calm down."

She shook her head. "No. You hurt… it's… tom, tom, tom…it's horrible!"

She turned and fled up the stairs. Neither of them made a move to follow her. Sherlock swallowed, looking pale and nauseated. John put his head in his hands.

"Fuck," he said. "What a fucking mess." He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"Oh God, don't you start crying. I don't think I could cope with more people in the house crying."

"Well fuck you! Fuck you, Sherlock; this isn't all about your emotional indifference!"

John kicked his chair over as he stormed out of the kitchen. Sherlock followed him.

"Yes, clearly this situation is about you having histrionics."

John came over to him and swung a fist at his face. Sherlock caught him by the wrist and held his arm there.

"This is not helpful, John!"

"For God's sake, Sherlock, she's not even twelve yet!"

"I know."

"She's not mature for her age either! She's not like other girls who are already thinking about sex and boyfriends and high heels!"

"I know."

"Who wants to think about their parents having sex? Who wants to hear about it in such hideous terms? She shouldn't have to hear it like that!"

"I know, John."

"Have we… have we shielded her too much? Because of last year? Have we screwed up everything else because we just wanted to get her back to normal again?"

"No."

"For fuck's sake! How dare they!"

"John…"

"As if she hasn't got enough to contend with right now!"

"I know. I know. But the question is, what do we do now?"

He let go of John's wrist and John went to sit down on the sofa.

"You should go and talk to her. You do better with her than I do at the moment."

Sherlock frowned. "What?"

"You got her to talk," John said blankly. "I didn't."

"You want to do this now?"

John crossed his arms and refused to look at Sherlock.

"Well fuck you too, John. This isn't about you and your self-pity either." He turned and walked up to Scarlet's room.

He knocked and let her answer before he walked in. Scarlet was sat on her bed with her guitar. She put it down when Sherlock came in.

"No, don't stop if you want to keep playing. I can wait."

"No," she said quietly.

Sherlock sat down on the end of her bed. "Scarlet, I need you to understand I don't hurt John. I wouldn't hurt him."

"He's angry."

"Yes he is, but not because of that. And he's not angry with you either. He's angry with the situation, and the school… Actually, you know what Scarlet, he's right to be angry with the school, and he's certainly right to be angry with the boys who spoke to you like that. But he's not angry with you or because I hurt him."

"He's angry… he's angry… you."

"Yes, he is a bit angry with me. I'm a bit angry with him to be honest, but Scarlet, it doesn't matter. People sometimes get angry with each other. It doesn't mean that they stop loving each other. We still loved you, didn't we, after the blue paint incident?"

She smiled slightly.

"Look," he sighed. "Damn it, I don't know where to start with this. I don't want you to be frightened of me, I know that." He paused for a while, thinking. John appeared in the doorway, carrying three mugs.

"Can I come in too?" he asked. "I've brought hot chocolate."

Scarlet smiled and nodded and John walked in, handing a mug to Sherlock along the way.

"What, no marshmallows?" Sherlock asked.

John smiled slightly. He sat down on the chair at Scarlet's desk.

"Scarlet, I need you to know that Sherlock doesn't hurt me. And I need you to know that I don't hurt him either, when I put my willy in him."

Scarlet blushed.

"I know, Scarlet, but it's not going to help at all if we can't talk about this. Not all the time, and not about everything because some things are private, but I'm not happy with the idea of people at school using horrible expressions to you and you thinking that sex his a horrible and frightening thing, when it's not."

"But, but, but… it's… there's…" her head dropped while she focussed. "It's for poo."

They both smiled slightly.

"Yes it is," John told her. "But not all the time. Ultimately, it's just a hole. Ultimately, it feels nice. It's just something that feels nice physically, and… well, it's nice being that close to Sherlock. Because I love him."

She thought about this. "Serene said that it's… it's… against…um…"

"Nature or God?" John asked.

"God."

"Yeah, some people think it is. Other people think it isn't. None of them have had a direct conversation with God in order to find out. If it was against nature, then we wouldn't have all these entirely natural hormonal urges driving us. If it was horrible, if it was nasty or unpleasant or wrong, I wouldn't want to do it to someone I loved. Do you understand?"

She nodded again.

"Do you want to stop talking about this now?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

They smiled again. "You can't go to the library tomorrow, Scarlet," John told her.

"No, no, no…" Scarlet clenched her hands, "Not… canary… school."

"She's right, John, she can't go back there!" Sherlock told him.

John hesitated. "You don't have to go in tomorrow, Scarlet, but Sherlock and I need to go and try to work out what happens next. It's a conversation that we need to have together, and we need to talk to the school and we need to talk to children's services too. But you can't just decide that educating yourself in the library is the way to deal with this. OK?"

She nodded.

"Right, I think fish and chips tonight. OK for everyone?"

"I'll go and get it," Sherlock said.

"You don't have to, I'm happy to."

"No, I know. I'm happy to though."

"Would you prefer to go? Do you need a walk?"

"No, I'm just saying."

"Christ!" Scarlet interjected. "Get… get… a grip."

oOo

They ate together on the sofa, Scarlet sitting between Sherlock and John. Scarlet and Sherlock played their usual game of trying to slip scraps to Scout without John noticing.

"She'll get fat!" John protested as he always did. "It's not actually kind to feed her like that!"

"It was just… bit of…bit of swims… wet, water… fish."

"Bit of fish nothing. She doesn't eat from our plates."

"Not plate…" she wiggled her fingers in front of him.

"Either way."

There was obviously no homework to do, but they both sat down with her to look at the books she'd selected at the library. They asked her what she was doing and gave her some suggestions for what she'd like to do next. The three of them in a line at the kitchen table.

"Don't need… don't need… you both!"

"Well I'm not going anywhere," Sherlock protested.

"Well neither am I!" John told her.

Scarlet sighed.

"Sorry," John told her, hugging her and kissing her forehead. "It's your fault though, you scared us, now we want to be with you."

"So tough," Sherlock agreed. "You've got both of us tonight."

They went to bed shortly after she did, shaken, but still friends. They lay next to each other in the darkness, hand in hand.

"So," Sherlock asked, "what do we do next."

"We go and see the school I guess. I'll ring in the morning and make an appointment."

"I don't like the idea of her going back there."

"No, neither do I. But that sort of thing happens everywhere. I just wish we'd spent more time preparing her. I feel like we've kept something hidden from her and sent her into the situation blind."

Sherlock grunted in response. "The problem is, who wants to prepare their child for that sort of thing. Shouldn't she be allowed to be a child for a bit longer?"

"Yes. That would be the ideal. That would be what I'd prefer. Life doesn't work like that though."

'We could home-school."

"No, Sherlock. Please no. She needs to be with people. She's going to have to be with people later on. If we can't even prepare her for school how the hell are we going to prepare her for what comes afterwards."

Sherlock shook his head in the darkness.

"You know what," John said to him, "I know this makes me a bad parent, and I know I shouldn't think this, but if I could change her from what she's like now into a normal little girl, then I would. I want the old Scarlet back."

"I used to want the old John back."

"What?"

"Sorry, nothing. But I don't think that makes you a bad parent. Every parent wants their child to be confident and able, and to not struggle through life…"

"No, I don't mean working on her exercises and the therapy to try and get her back to normal or as near normal as she can be. I mean if I could turn back time so that she'd never have fallen, then I'd do that."

"She's still the same child, John. She's frustrated more because she can't show people who she is as easily as she could, but she's the same person inside."

"So you wouldn't stop it happening?"

"Oh God, like a shot! But wishing isn't going to make any difference."

John thought about it all for a moment. "Sherlock, thank you. I know the work you've put in this year. I know it isn't easy. I just… thank you for not giving up on her."

"I can't. I'm not allowed. There's a piece of paper in my breast pocket that says I can't walk away."

"Yeah. I've seen other parents do it though."

"Well then, it's lucky you married me and not one of them isn't it!"

John smiled and turned his head to kiss him softly.

"I'm shattered. Let's go to sleep now and face the school in the morning."

They were silent for a while, but neither of them slept.

"You know what I do wish?" Sherlock said.

"That you could sleep easily tonight?"

"No. Well, yes but that's not what I was thinking. I wish we hadn't spent so much time just being silent or walking away when someone said something unkind to us. I wish we'd shown Scarlet that prejudice isn't acceptable, and that it's something you're allowed to challenge."

"Mm. That's probably my fault, isn't it?"

"I think trying to portion blame and spending time attacking ourselves is probably one of the least helpful things we can do right now. You may have started it but I let you. But it has to stop now."

"Yes it does. If it was someone else and not me, I'd never let them get away with it."

"Yes. It always surprises me how you want better for everyone else than you ever want for yourself. It's odd."

There was a pause.

"You know what else I wish?" John said.

"What?"

"I sort of wish she'd spent her time doing something a bit more fun. I mean, the _library!_ Is it me, or is our girl absolutely rubbish at playing truant?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Yeah, it is a bit. But that's what I mean. It's absolutely the sort of thing she'd do. It's a very 'Scarlet' way to behave. She honestly hasn't changed at all."

"Yeah, but still…"

"I smoked weed behind the local gym, or trailed the local police making a nuisance of myself. They were rubbish. They didn't even pick up on the fact that I ought to have been in school."

"I went down to the beach to throw stones at stuff. Apart from once I tried to swim to France."

Sherlock giggled. "Really? What happened?"

"I got cold and swam back."

Sherlock laughed again and kissed John's shoulder.

They didn't talk any more, but stayed awake, just thinking, long into the night.

oOo

John called Carol early and explained what had been going on. She approved of the plan to keep Scarlet from school until he'd spoken to the head-teacher. The next step of the plan was more complicated, as it took him an hour to get through to the school, a long conversation with an administrator to explain who he was, and why it was so urgent that they met with the head-teacher that day, and not wait for a more convenient time. They were told they could come in at two o'clock.

At two thirty they were still sat waiting outside the head's office. Scarlet had told them that she really didn't want to come with them and they hadn't pressured her. Eventually they were shown in. Mrs Cameron was a harassed looking middle-aged woman who had no idea who they were.

"We're Scarlet Watson's parents," John told her. "She hasn't been attending school… you contacted Social Services."

"Oh yes, of course, I remember now. We sent the file over to the truancy office. Why aren't you dealing direct with them?"

"We are, we have a case-worker there, but obviously we need to work things out with you too."

"Mr Watson, it's your responsibility to make sure Scarlet gets to school every day. It's as simple as that."

"Yes, and it's your responsibility to make sure she's safe while she's here. And it's Doctor Watson."

"Mrs Cameron," Sherlock cut in, "why didn't you call us when Scarlet hadn't been to school? It's standard procedure, is it not, that you contact the parents on the first occasion of non-attendance. It's fairly unusual to wait for three weeks to go by, then go straight to social services."

"Mr Holmes, this is a large school, and we simply can't contact each individual child's parents for each little incident. There are certain children in the school who are identified as needing special concern, and it's not unusual for us to go directly to Social Services if something happens with them."

"And Scarlet's been identified of being one such child has she?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Well there is no one specific thing, but we build up a picture of a child…"

"And what lead to you having this picture of Scarlet?" John asked.

"Well, for example, her speech impediment is severe and you haven't bothered to get a SEN statement for her…"

"What the hell's a SEN statement?" Sherlock asked.

"Special Educational Needs," John told him.

"She doesn't have special educational needs!" Sherlock protested. "She can think and learn as well as any other child in this school! Better than some I'd imagine! And we know this because we've got a world-class neurologist working with her at one of the top hospitals in London, so the idea that we can't be bothered is ridiculous!"

Mrs Cameron was not put off. "There's also her unusual home set-up."

They both stared at her. "What unusual home set-up?" John demanded.

"No, she's right," Sherlock told him. "It must be quite unusual for a child two have two married parents living in the same house in this day and age!"

"Say what you like, Mr Holmes, but a child, particularly a girl, needs a woman's influence in her life."

"She's got an influential woman in her life!" John yelled. "More than one in fact! The fact that none of them happens to be her parent is completely irrelevant, and it's certainly no reason to feel that her home life is any more risky than any other child you might meet! So my guess is that you don't actually care that a group of older boys intimidated her and upset her because her parents are gay! You don't care that they terrified her to the extent that she didn't feel able to come back here, do you! That she went to the library to continue her education for herself rather than come back here!"

"Mister Watson, no good will come from you shouting at me! I will not be intimidated by the likes of you! So Scarlet told you this story did she?"

"It's _Doctor_ Watson. And he's _Sir_ Sherlock Holmes. And if you think there's any way Scarlet's setting foot in this school as long as there's a small-minded homophobe sat in this office, you've got another think coming. We won't take up any more of your time, you're absolutely right that this situation should be handled through Social Services, and the LEA, and possibly the Department for Education. You are failing every single child in this school with this attitude. You shouldn't be anywhere near children! You think _we're_ the problem? More harm will come to the children in this school because of who you are than could possibly be done by us!"

He got up and stormed out of the office. Sherlock followed him, silently, and continued to trail him as he stormed along the road. John diverted into the park, and marched around several of the paths until he was calm enough to turn and face Sherlock. He didn't seem to know what to say. He just stood there, shaking his head for a while.

"I think it went really well," Sherlock said to him.

John continued shaking his head. "She can't go back there. She can't go there ever again."

"Well, from what you were saying, you were intending to get Mrs Cameron removed. Perhaps with a better leader…"

"No, I absolutely will pursue this, but it'll take time."

"Well, Mycroft…"

"No. I don't care if he's involved, but we do this officially. It's not just her; we need teachers to know that they can't work with children if they're harbouring this sort of prejudice! There will be gay children at that school, and she is not protecting them! There will be gay children at other schools and they shouldn't have teachers who make them feel that they're less than any other child! It isn't good enough! Whatever happens to her, it needs to be official and it needs to be public because I'm willing to bet she's not the only teacher like that. There are clearly loads of brilliant teachers too, but… but…"

"OK, and what happens to Scarlet while you're leading your crusade? Home school?"

"No. She needs to be with people. She just needs to be at a school that's more suitable for her needs. And is it just my crusade?"

"No it's not, you know that. But we need to sort out Scarlet's future now, not later. I don't want her to go to a special needs school, John."

"No, I know. But… she does have some specific needs. You can't go and sit in her classroom every times he needs to speak so you can translate whatever comes out of her mouth."

"John… I know you've always been dead against when we've talked about this before, but I want to think again about private school."

John rolled his eyes.

"No, John. Look, she will be in a mainstream school, which we both agree is important, but there will be smaller class sizes, and probably a lot more flexibility with regards to how she's treated in the classroom. We need a school where she's not one child among five thousand others. And yes, I think that every child needs that kind of attention, but it's not the reality we're working with here."

John looked away and thought about this for a while.

"OK. OK, we can look, but I'm not prepared to give up on State Education."

"No, nor am I. I just don't want to narrow our options at all, not while there are extra complications in play. And even if we have her at a private school, I don't think we should give up on State Education. I just don't want Scarlet left behind. She's only a child once, John. There's no good campaigning to fix things, and getting things better for children if we turn around and find that she's suddenly twenty and it's all too late for her."

"No. No you're right. It's just…"

"I know. But look, we can make sure that British State Schools are the best education in the world for our grandchildren. And as much as it pains me to admit this, but Mycroft might be able to… guide us with that. But Scarlet needs help right now."

John smiled. "OK, let's go and tell Scarlet that she doesn't need to go to school for a couple of weeks."

* * *

**Oo, that one was a bit unexpected, for me as much as for anyone else. And tense. Sorry. I hope you liked it though. Once again, thank you all so much for reviewing! I will get on with the other prompts, but this was in my head now.**

**Pip xxx  
**


	22. The fall

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews. And so very sorry for the shock.**

**

* * *

**_Scarlet is ten at the start of this. It's the summer, a few days before the start of Scarlet's last year of primary school._

John and Sherlock sat side by side on a park bench. Scout's lead was loosely tied around the arm as she lay panting under the seat. John was vaguely watching Scarlet through the fence that separated the children's playground from the rest of the park. Sherlock had his eyes closed.

"I really wish she was a bit less bossy," John said.

"She's fine."

"She's going to alienate those other kids."

"Does she know them?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"It doesn't matter then. They'll all move on and forget she ever existed. She won't make any lasting enemies."

"She won't make any lasting friends either."

"She's fine, John."

"Oh God, what's she doing now!"

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up. "She's climbing. She likes climbing. Leave her alone."

Scarlet had led a group of children across the monkey bars separating one tower of a climbing frame from another. She was clearly disappointed that they'd all been able to follow her so easily, so had made the return trip over the top of the bars, crawling along them on hands and feet, as if it was a horizontal ladder.

When she got to the other side, the small group she'd attracted rushed over to her. They seemed to be congratulating her physical prowess and she was clearly enjoying their praise. From one of the children, a challenge was issued. John watched as Scarlet climbed up one of the towers, and stepped out onto the top of the bars again. With a foot one each of the first two bars she stood up and got her balance. She was clearly intending to go across again, this time on her feet.

John's mouth dried as he watched her gauge the distance between each of the bars. When she went, she went quickly and lightly. John started breathing again when she reached the other side.

"Did you see that?" he asked Sherlock.

"She's getting good, isn't she!"

John rolled his eyes and walked up to the fence. "Scarlet! Scarlet! Here, now!"

She took her time coming over to him, but looked up at him brightly when she did so.

"Scarlet, can you please use the playground equipment in the way it's designed for? The monkey bars aren't there to be walked across."

"Sherlock let's me."

"I don't care. If you fall from that height you'd smash your head open!"

"No I wouldn't! It's that rubber matting stuff." She jumped to demonstrate the give.

"These rubber mats are designed to soften a fall from no more than two meters. 'Soften', not 'prevent'. You, standing on those bars, are higher than that."

"How do you even know that?"

"I just know, Scarlet. I'm omnipotent."

"Omniscient, you mean."

"Perhaps I'm both. Just don't walk across the monkey bars. That's all I'm asking."

"OK! Fine!" She darted off again.

He wandered back to the bench and sat down again. Sherlock gave him a look.

"The monkey bars aren't two meters high."

"When she's stood on them, her head is."

"You are not even close to omniscient."

"Don't let her walk across the monkey bars. Please."

They sat back and watched some more.

"Where's she gone?" John asked.

"She's over there. She's wisely chosen to play on the climbing frame that's furthest from her Father's prying eyes."

"Let's take her home. Scout's getting hot anyway."

They retrieved their errant daughter, but Scarlet was stirred up and not willing to wait patiently for them as the strolled along lazily in the afternoon heat. She hopped and jumped ahead, crossing roads carefully and at safe places but sprinting the distances between. She arrived at Baker Street some time before the others. She waited on the step, wondering about knocking and getting Mrs Hudson to let her in, but she decided that it was around about her naptime. She turned her attention upwards towards the temptingly open lounge window.

She thought that if she could somehow pull herself up to the door lintel, then she might be able to use the awning at the top of the sandwich shop window to scale over to beneath the window. Then it would be short work to get to the iron railing outside the window, then over it, then in the flat. She could run down and let John and Sherlock in through the front door, surprising them.

She made a couple of attempts at the door before she worked out she could use the knocker as a foothold and then she was able to hoist herself up. There was a frightening moment when she was suspended between two points and she wasn't entirely sure how to get herself over to the awning, but she decided that a spring and a hope was the best option, and she was very pleased when this worked for her.

She had her first hand on the railing when John and Sherlock got into the street. She'd thought she was home and dry, but she hadn't calculated on the awning being covered with bird droppings and mould at the top. It was slick beneath her feet. She hadn't thought about the age of the railings either. They were rusty and some of the paint was pealing off leaving sharp points, so she could only gingerly hold on. She raised one foot towards the railing by the window and then the other one slipped. She flailed wildly, trying to grab anything to hold her in place, but there was nothing there. She tipped backwards and fell, head first, towards the ground.

John and Sherlock had both started running before she'd hit the floor, but there was no way they could get to her in time. The sound of her head hitting the ground was sickening. She didn't scream or cry. She just lay still.

Sherlock got there first. She was unconscious on the pavement and he shrank back from touching her. He was relieved when John was suddenly there, taking charge, instructing him to call an ambulance.

Scarlet's eyes fluttered and she was suddenly awake again, looking disorientated and frightened. She tried to get up and John talked quietly and calmly to her as he tried to restrain her and prevent her from standing. Sherlock found he was unable to focus on what he was hearing on the phone and John took it from him. He looked back at Scarlet, relieved that she seemed to be perfectly well.

"God, Turnip you just gave me such a scare."

She looked at him as if he was a complete stranger and he slowly started to feel the terror grip him again. She looked scared herself as she pulled herself up, staggered drunkenly towards the doorstep, then sat heavily on it. He could hear John telling him to try to keep her still, but he still couldn't touch her. He just hovered, steadying her, then held her up as she threw up on his shoes.

He could hear John saying that she was definitely concussed and appeared to be altered.

He couldn't make himself understand, but he could hear the stress in John's voice and squatted down next to Scarlet.

"Scarlet, can you tell me your name?"

She looked at him with a frown. "I… I… I'm… I…"

"Do you know who I am?"

"I… I…"

She looked scared and vomited again.

She suddenly lolled forwards and Sherlock caught her to prevent her hitting her head once more.

"John!" he wailed as Scarlet suddenly thrashed, her eyes rolling back in her head.

John dropped the phone and it broke into several pieces.

"Lay her down," he told Sherlock, taking Scarlet from him instead. "Put your coat under her head."

It was too warm for a coat but Sherlock stripped his t-shirt off instead, trying to position her where she wasn't lying in her own sick.

There was the sudden wail of sirens and a flash of blue light and Sherlock breathed out.

"Get rid of that damned dog!" John yelled at him. Sherlock registered that Scout had been barking furiously since he and John had sprinted up the street.

Mrs Hudson opened the door. "What's all the row about?" She asked then "Oh my God!" as she took in Scarlet's condition.

Sherlock pushed past her to take Scout inside. He stood in the calm of the flat for a moment then dashed to get a t-shirt for himself, along with his wallet and John's phone that he'd left behind when they headed out earlier. He shut Scout inside and dashed out again.

The scene on the street was now different. There was an ambulance with open rear doors blocking the road. There were small groups of pedestrians gazing on. Scarlet was no longer seizing, but was unconscious and under a blanket. There was a paramedic kneeling beside her, injecting her with something. He was listening to John, who was kneeling beside him, and occasionally looking up at a second paramedic giving instructions.

Mrs Hudson, grasping the collar of her house-coat was watching too. She was holding the pieces of Sherlock's broken phone.

The second paramedic handed across a neck brace and the first one started putting it on Scarlet.

"Her neck's not broken," Sherlock told them. "She was walking around."

The paramedic looked up at him. "It's OK, this for just in case. Don't worry; we'll look after her."

He was annoyingly calm. John got up and came over to Sherlock.

"They're going to take her in. As concussions go it looks fairly bad. They'll need to x-ray her too. She can't tell us whether she's hurt anything but my God…" He looked up at the window and shook his head, his breathing shuddering. "God…"

"Where are they taking her?"

"I don't know." He called across to a paramedic, working with his colleague to get her onto a stretcher. "Which hospital?"

"UCH in the first instance. One of you can come with us, but I need the space in the van."

John looked at Sherlock. "Can you follow in a cab?"

"Yes."

"We'll be in overnight. We'll need… I don't know."

"I'll sort something. Here," he handed John the wallet and phone. "I'll be right behind you."

He watched as Scarlet was promptly put on board, John climbing in after him. They shut the doors afterwards and with lights still shining, they hurried away.

"Here you are, dear," Mrs Hudson said to him, handing him his phone. He stared at the bits for a moment.

"I need to get a cab," he replied, not going anywhere.

"We'll pack you a bag. I'll help. Come on."

"Shit; I've just handed all my money over to John."

"I can lend you cab fare. Come on Sherlock. Come on in, Dear."

oOo

Sherlock walked through the A&E of University College Hospital feeling strangely cut off and alone without the comfort of his phone. He was beginning to panic when he spotted John chatting to someone at the end of a gurney. John spotted him and waved.

"They're going to move us on. They're calling through and arranging transport to Great Ormond Street."

"Why didn't they just send her here first?"

"They usually do observation here and only transfer if a child needs admitting. They're not going to bother with obs, they want her to get a head scan and they're better able to do that at Great Ormond Street."

"That's where they send the very sick children, isn't it."

"It's where the specialist paediatric teams are. Don't get alarmed about it, let's just go wherever she needs us to go."

Sherlock sighed and nodded. He looked over at Scarlet. "What's going on with her?"

"At the moment we can't say beyond concussion."

"But the seizure…"

"Was fucking terrifying, but let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Sherlock looked sharply at him, but John was staring at a random point on Sherlock's shoulder. It wasn't lost on Sherlock that brain trauma was what had killed Mary. John had struggled to start practising medicine again until he'd got his fear of seizures under control. Sherlock didn't say anything to him, but ran his hand down his arm. He then walked past him to look at Scarlet properly.

She was pale and still and looking extremely small and frail. There was a nurse at the head of her bed, just watching her. Sherlock brushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her.

They were approached by another paramedic. "You're transporting to GOSH? Let's go then."

"Wait," Sherlock said to John, "I gave you my wallet, I'll need to follow in a cab." John started patting down his pockets wondering where he'd put it.

"You're her Dad too? You can come in the ambulance," the paramedic told him. "You'll need to ride up front but Pete won't mind."

"Thank you."

Sherlock's gratitude increased on discovering that Pete was quite happy to drive him around without expecting any conversation. Sherlock's chin sank down to his chest and thought about things.

He couldn't work out why the lounge window was open. He wasn't sure who had left the flat last. He could remember laughing with John about something as he followed him out… he'd left last. He'd left the window open. Anyone could have tried to get in. He and John had always been fairly relaxed about security, feeling confident that both the police and the government were regularly watching their flat, but he felt it should have occurred to him that Scarlet would try to scale the wall sooner or later.

He rubbed his face and desperately hoped that John wouldn't realise that it was his fault.

He was distracted by a sudden noise from the back of the ambulance.

"I… I… I…"

"It's all right, Scarlet, just lie still for a bit," John told her.

"I…I…"

"Scarlet, is it?" Sherlock could here the paramedic saying. "Don't you worry, poppet, we're taking you to Great Ormond Street. They're going to fix you right up there."

"I…I…I…"

"Scarlet can you tell me if anything's hurting?"

"I… I … I…"

"OK, don't worry, Poppet, you just settle down."

Sherlock could hear her sobbing slightly, then silence.

"Is she out again?" he heard John ask.

"Yep. We're nearly there now, though."

Sherlock closed his eyes. He didn't open them again until Pete stopped the ambulance and gently said, "We're here."

oOo

The rest of the day was largely spent waiting around as Scarlet was wheeled to various places for scans and x-rays. It was found that she had broken her collarbone, her skull was fractured badly, and there were two small bleeds inside her brain.

They waited some more as she was operated on to remove several small fragments of skull and a plastic plate was attached over the damaged section.

Sherlock was far more concerned about the bleeding in her brain, but John explained that it was far too dangerous to invasively enter the brain if it wasn't strictly necessary.

"So the basic treatment is for her to be completely still for a few days?"

"Yes," John told him. "Pretty much."

"She's really not very good at that."

"No. Well, she might be at the moment."

"She will get better, won't she? I mean, the concussion won't last forever, she'll be back to normal."

"We won't know about that until we know. We have to wait and see."

Sherlock pouted.

"Sherlock, the thing I think we have to think about is that whatever happens, if she ends up alive then we're bloody lucky. A fall from that height onto paving slabs… Seriously, it doesn't bare thinking about."

Sherlock frowned. "But she won't die now, will she! She's alive… she lived!"

John didn't answer but sat down, resting his head on his hand and staring at the floor. After a few minutes he looked up at Sherlock.

"We need that bleed to stop and we don't need further complications. I'm just saying, we need to be a bit patient and take every minute that we get."

Sherlock took this on board and nodded. "OK. That's what we'll do then."

It was late when Scarlet was delivered back to a general ward and John and Sherlock were reunited with her. Her hair had been cut off and shaved at some points. She had a thick bandage wrapped around her head like a turban. She was lying on her side with her thumb in her mouth looking hopelessly young.

They were shown the pull out bed that came down from the wall next to her bed.

"Which one of you will be staying?" a nurse asked them.

They looked at each other.

"Sherlock I can't…" John said.

"Can't what? Stay or leave?"

"I can't leave. I can't leave her here. Sorry."

"No it's fine. We'll do turn and turn about. But you'll call me if you need me to come back, won't you?"

John nodded. Sherlock felt strangely spare, so he kissed John and Scarlet and set off home. He returned briefly to retrieve his wallet, then left again.

oOo

He was not surprised to find Mrs Hudson waiting up for him when he got home. Nor was he surprised that she'd clearly scrubbed the pavement outside the house clean. He was slightly surprised that Mycroft was sat in an armchair in her lounge, drinking tea.

"How's Scarlet?" Mrs Hudson asked instantly, pulling him inside. "What's happening to her?"

"She has a broken collarbone and is concussed."

"Oh thank goodness! Thank goodness nothing worse!" She bustled off to get him tea and supper.

Mycroft stared at him a moment, then held a phone out to him. Sherlock frowned, taking it.

"Mrs Hudson said yours had been broken," Mycroft explained. "I thought you'd probably want to stay in touch with John so I arranged a replacement."

"Thank you."

"What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"A broken collarbone and concussion?"

Sherlock took a breath and sat down in another armchair. "I… don't know. I don't know what else. The concussion is bad, it's more than just a headache, it's… I don't know."

"Is there anything else you need from me?"

Sherlock glanced up again, then shook his head. "I don't know. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now."

"What's John doing?"

"Panicking. And trying not to panic." He smiled the ghost of a smile. "I think I'm already doing that. I don't know what else though."

Mrs Hudson reappeared with a tray, and Mycroft stood up. "Well, I won't keep you from you dinner. But if there's anything else you need, you will contact me, won't you."

Sherlock nodded.

"How long do you expect her to be in hospital?"

"I don't know that either. Several days at least I would think."

"Should I visit her?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you. I think she'd like that."

"Goodbye then."

Mycroft left. Sherlock stared at his tray full of food for a while.

"You don't want that, do you," Mrs Hudson said to him.

He shook his head and she moved the tray away again, and returned to pull his head towards her to hug him.

"She'll be as right as rain in the morning, you'll see," she told him.

"I'm sure you're right," he whispered back.


	23. Recovering

**As always, I am incredibly grateful for the reviews! It makes me so happy to get them. I really am sorry that these last few have been so upsetting though. It feels quite mean of me, but at the same time, I'm quite glad I've taken this story somewhere slightly different again.**

**Pip. xxx**

* * *

_The next day_

Sherlock woke up on the sofa. He noticed a cup of tea on the coffee table and it was still steaming. He deduced that Mrs Hudson had been in but had not wanted to wake him.

He knew it was sensible for him to be well rested in order to properly take care of Scarlet and John, so he had actually gone to bed. In fact he'd gone to bed three times. Each time the bed felt cold and stupidly big and he'd found a reason to get up again. He'd been IMing with Lestrade until about two, chatting about various cases and the like until Lestrade had directly asked him whether he wanted him to come round for company.

He'd stared at the screen for a full ten minutes before he responded with 'no'. He'd gone to bed again after that, then come down at four to check the weather reports in case he'd need to take warmer clothes into the hospital, then eventually fallen into a doze on the sofa.

He felt angry with himself for failing to be rested for John and Scarlet.

He showered and packed another bag with a change of clothes for John and pyjamas for himself and Scarlet. Mrs Hudson managed to grab him before he left the house again.

"Do you want me to make a couple of packed lunches up for you or John, or do you think you'll all be back home this morning?"

"Probably not this morning, no, but don't worry about a lunch. We'll sort ourselves out there."

"Alright love. I'll see you this afternoon then."

She wandered back to her flat and Sherlock felt guilty about not explaining to her. He shook his head and went off in search of a cab.

oOo

He was flagged down by a nurse at the entrance of Scarlet's ward.

"John said to let you know Scarlet's been moved to a cubicle. Here, I'll show you the way."

He followed her down a corridor and into a little room containing Scarlet and John. There was a temporary bed this room too, but John had abandoned it, choosing to sleep in Scarlet's hospital bed with her. He was curled up around her now, one arm draped gently over her. They were both asleep and Sherlock just looked at them for a few moments. If it hadn't been for the setting and the bandage around Scarlet's head, they would make a nice photo.

He went into and sat down on the visitor's chair by her bed. John stirred, opened his eyes and looked at him.

"You OK?" Sherlock asked him, quietly.

"Mm." John nodded. He leaned over to check on Scarlet, then quietly and slowly got up from the bed. "She was confused and kept trying to get up and go somewhere. She was calmer when I was in the bed with her."

"Why did they move her?"

"She had a couple of big seizures in the night. We were disturbing the other patients."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I could be somewhere else calling you, or I could be with her. The first second I thought I could get away I remembered you didn't have a phone."

"Mycroft replaced it."

"Oh. Well I know now. I still couldn't leave her though. She's actually been asleep quite normally since about four. Did you bring food?"

"No, but I can get you something."

"I'll go."

"You sure?"

"I really need a break. Can you be here for a bit?"

Sherlock looked at him. He looked old and tired and quite shaken. Sherlock suspected that he hadn't been asleep since four. "Of course, take all the time you need. There are clothes for you in the bag."

"Thanks. I'll be back within an hour. I just need a walk."

Sherlock settled down and looked at Scarlet. He couldn't quite reconcile this tiny, still quiet girl with the overbearing and energetic child she was yesterday. He stroked her forehead for a moment, desperately hoping she'd be up and about again soon.

John wasn't back within an hour, but Sherlock didn't worry. He just hoped that he would take a proper break.

At about nine-thirty, Scarlet stirred and woke up. She looked over at him and though she looked thoroughly miserable, it was the first time since the accident that Sherlock had seen her eyes focus. She looked around the room, clearly trying to work out where she was before she looked back at Sherlock.

"Good morning," he said to her.

"Carrot… carrot." She frowned in confusion and looked alarmed.

"It's OK. It's all right," he said to her, wondering whether it was actually OK and all right.

"Came… heather…"

"What is it? Are you hungry?"

She grimaced and shook her head.

"You feel sick?"

She nodded very slightly.

"Lie still for a second and take a couple of breaths." He looked around the room and located a cardboard bowl. He put it on the bed.

"Do you think you could drink a bit of water?"

Another nod and he poured her a beaker of water and held it so she could drink some through a straw.

"Pencil… pen… bi…" She frowned again, frustrated.

"Do you want to write something?"

Another slight shake of her head. She put her hand out towards him, and when he took hold of it, she squeezed his hand as hard as she could. It wasn't hard but he suddenly understood.

"Are you in pain?"

Another small nod.

"Can you tell me… can you point to where?"

She touched her shoulder lightly, then placed her hand on her head and shut her eyes.

"OK, I'll go and see if they can give you…"

He broke off as she sat up and grabbed him.

"Letter… letter… hill!"

"OK! OK, Scarlet I won't go anywhere. I'll stay here. There'll be a call button somewhere about."

He found it and the nurse appeared and quickly disappeared off to find out what medication could be given to Scarlet. She returned with a small cup with an amount of gloopy liquid in it. Scarlet managed to swallow it, but instantly gagged. There was a horrible moment when they all thought she'd throw it straight back up again, but she was able to drink a bit more water and settled back down again.

"Well done, Scarlet," the nurse said, giving her arm a little squeeze.

"Heather… heaven… shit!"

Sherlock frowned. "Was that last one deliberate?"

There was a nervous look, and a tiny nod.

"Well, I'd call that a good start."

"Poison… batter… battery…"

"OK. One step at a time."

"Scarlet, would you like to try and eat some breakfast?" the nurse asked her.

She shook her head.

"Have a think about it. Today you get to eat whatever you fancy." The nurse seemed bright and jovial, but Sherlock frowned, wondering how she expected Scarlet to tell her her food choices. "What about getting dressed?" the nurse went on. "It might be nice to get out of that hospital gown."

She shrugged with her one good shoulder.

"I have pyjamas for her." Sherlock told her. "I'm not sure how we'll get them on with the sling there though."

"I'll help, if you'd like Scarlet?"

She nodded again, and let the two of them help her sit up and put pyjamas on her. The activity exhausted her and she lay back and shut her eyes when they'd finished.

"Do you think you have any scrap paper and a pen you could lend me?" Sherlock asked the nurse.

"I'll see what we've got. You might find that she's not able to write though."

"No. Her writing hand's strapped up anyway, I just thought she might be able to read and point."

"I'll see what we've got."

oOo

Scarlet was asleep again when John got back to the room. He was carrying several Tesco bags.

"Sorry, I needed a longer walk than I'd thought," he said, putting the shopping down.

"It's fine. She was awake for a bit though."

"Really? Was she lucid?"

"Yes, sort of. She understood what I was saying but her speech is all messed up."

"What do you mean? Slurring and stuff?"

"No, the words were clear but nonsense. She wasn't saying what she was thinking."

"Aphasia. It's not unexpected with a blow like that."

"Is it permanent?"

"Depends. Let's hope not. Were there any other seizures?"

"No. No, she was fine. Well, in pain, but fine. A nurse gave her something."

"Do you know what?"

"I didn't ask. Sorry."

"It's OK." He came forward tentatively to look at her, and stoked her head gently. "You dressed her."

"The nurse seemed to think it was a good idea."

John nodded in response.

"Here, sit down," Sherlock said, gathering the papers he was writing on and standing up. "You must be shattered."

"I'm fine," he replied automatically. He took the seat anyway. "What's all that?"

"I'm writing stuff down that she might want to ask or say. I thought she could point."

John looked at some of the sheets of paper. They were organised into categories such as 'food', 'clothes', 'things' 'statements' and 'questions'.

"It's a good idea. I'd hope she'd be talking properly soon though."

"Yes, but if she isn't…"

"It is a good idea. I'd question some of your choices though. You've got 'What is God?' as a question, but not 'I need the toilet' as a statement."

Sherlock looked, and picked up the statement sheet again to add it. "The questions are trickiest. She asks such a lot of them and I never know what's coming next. I don't want to restrict her curiosity."

"The food's in depth. I wish I'd thought of it before going to buy half of bloody Tescos in the hope of getting something that would tempt her. It's a little under-represented on the vegetable side of things though."

"Vegetables take up valuable space that's needed for deserts."

"Is that a direct quote from her?"

Sherlock glanced across and smiled. John seemed significantly less stressed now. He hoped that Scarlet would wake up again so he could see for himself how much better she was.

After a few minutes, he got his wish as she stirred and opened her eyes again. Sherlock stood back to let John say hello to her. She was still groggy and her words were clearly still wrong, but she recognised him and he hugged her closely, clearly trying not to cry with relief.

He cheered up to the extent that he could cajole both Scarlet and Sherlock into eating some lunch. Scarlet was in the process of vomiting the small amount of yoghurt she'd eaten back again when Mycroft appeared in the door. Sherlock was about to tell him to go away when Scarlet thrashed and seized again. John swore and buzzed through for a nurse while Sherlock tried to clear the bed of lunch debris.

The nurse appeared swiftly, but the seizure was already over, leaving Scarlet staring, vacant and confused again.

"It wasn't as bad as the two in the night," John told her.

"I'm going to buzz through for the neurology consult again," the nurse replied. "She was due to come up anyway but I might ask her to come sooner rather than later."

John nodded and the nurse, hovered for a moment until it was fairly clear Scarlet wasn't going to seize again, then she left them alone.

John sighed. "Shit. I thought we'd seen the last of them. God I hope it's not going to be permanent."

"Is that likely?"

John didn't answer. He just sighed and shook his head. He sat down heavily in the chair. He suddenly looked up at Sherlock. "Mycroft was here. You should go and see if he's still about somewhere."

Sherlock nodded and left.

He found Mycroft staring at a mural in the corridor. He didn't know what to say to him so he just pulled his arm slightly, indicating that he should follow him. He walked right off the ward and found a quiet corner and started to cry. He'd tried not to, but he finally decided that Mycroft was probably the one person he could actually cry in front of in this situation. He thought that of all people, he wouldn't remotely care and he'd probably know what to say.

He did. "Don't cry, Sherlock. You know that Father doesn't like it."

Sherlock snorted and wiped his eyes. He leaned against the wall. "Mycroft, has it ever occurred to you that Father was a complete and utter arsehole?"

"Of course. I'm surprised it's taken you so long to realise it."

"I've been suspicious for a while."

"Certainly his parenting skills weren't a patch on what John's are. Or indeed, your own."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "It's my fault, Mycroft. I left the window open. I might has well have installed a neon sign that read 'Scarlet, please try to scale the front of the building.'"

"You could hardly have expected her to try it. Most ten year olds wouldn't have."

"I would have."

"Yes. She is surprisingly like you. I personally hoped that she'd get a sizable portion of common sense from John though."

Sherlock sighed again and stared at the floor. "Clearly she didn't."

"Sherlock, I'm no expert, but I would have thought that this is the least useful time for recriminations and self pity. Just a thought."

Sherlock nodded. "You know what's ridiculous? Even after seeing the results, a part of me is proud of her for trying it. She's confident. She's utterly sure of her own abilities. It's a marvel to watch." He frowned and looked away. "She was anyway."

"Have they indicated what the long term prognosis might be?"

"No. There's been a whole lot of 'we'll have to wait and see' and not much else. It's terrifying though." He looked up at Mycroft. "You know, I've suddenly found myself wishing I knew how to pray."

"Really?"

"Yep. I'm quite clueless on that front though."

"Well I'd have thought that believing in a deity would be a good first step."

"Yes. That's certainly where I'm coming unstuck. But if I could conjure anything that I could sell my soul to to get her back to normal then I would. Who bought yours, by the way?"

Mycroft smiled at him. "I should think you need to go back in."

"Yes. Should I let you know when she's well enough for visitors?"

"No. I'll keep trying. You'll let me know if there's anything any of you need?"

Sherlock nodded and wiped his eyes again.

"OK then. I'll be back tomorrow."

Scarlet was asleep again when he got back to the room, and John was slumped in the armchair, looking exhausted and dejected. He looked up when Sherlock came in.

"You know I've been thinking about it, and I honestly think this is the worst day I have ever had. Ever."

Sherlock nodded at him. He understood the magnitude of this statement and he needed to turn away so that John didn't see him start to cry again.

John noticed anyway and he was suddenly at Sherlock's side, pulling him into a hug, crying with him. Sherlock suddenly realised how much he'd been physically missing John. It didn't make everything completely better, but he felt relieved that there was someone to share all of this with. Someone who completely understood.

They were disturbed by Scarlet waking again.

"Daffy! Pink… sea…" she said accusingly.

Sherlock looked over at her and smiled. "We're allowed to hug each other, Scarlet."

She sighed. "Fishes."

oOo

Scarlet did not get better as quickly as any of them had hoped. She quickly became frustrated that she couldn't work out how to tell people what she needed. Sherlock's lists were helpful for the first few days when Scarlet mostly wanted to lie still, but as the pain and nausea reduced she desperately wanted to talk to people and hated the fact that she was so restricted.

Some of the behaviour that she'd grown out of in the toddler years started to come back and she started smacking, scratching and pinching John and Sherlock when they didn't understand her quickly enough. They let this go but when she smacked one of the nurses Sherlock intervened and told her off. He was gentle with her and calm, but he made it clear that she couldn't get away with violence towards people who were trying to help her.

She'd ended up sobbing on his shoulder.

She was not incredibly polite to her visitors either. As well as the frustration, she was ashamed that she couldn't do something that most people master by the time they're three. This was compounded by the fact that she regularly wet herself during a seizure. Sometimes John would be able to change her while she was still confused afterwards, but she generally worked things out and was humiliated.

The only visitor she tried to talk to was Mrs Hudson, but she ended up frightening her and ended up feeling worse. Her response to all of this was to start hiding under the blankets whenever someone came in to see her, sometimes quite obviously but at other times she simply pretended to be asleep. Most of her visitors instantly forgave this behaviour and persevered.

She was unable to tell John and Sherlock that she didn't want anyone seeing her. Sherlock worked it out though, and told her that while he sympathised with this, he wasn't going to let her hide herself away. He told her she was too valuable for that and though she disagreed, she did stop hiding. She didn't try to speak though, and people quickly compromised by restricting themselves to asking her yes or no questions. Mycroft turned out to be particularly good with her and she was calm enough to be left with him for an hour or two so that John and Sherlock could occasionally take a much needed break together. On one such occasion, he arrived with Lestrade giving John and Sherlock something new to discuss and speculate about over their dinner.

She had several more scans which showed the bleeding to have stopped, but there was scaring and damage in the area. A neurologist called Sam was dealing with her case and he came to see her daily. He came in one afternoon, about twelve days after she'd first been admitted, and sat on the bed with her with a plastic brain made up of interlocking coloured plastic pieces.

He took them brain apart and held up the piece that was labelled 'language'.

"This is the bit in your brain that got damaged, Scarlet. What's happened is that there are some scars on it now that's stopping it work properly."

She took the piece from him and peered at it. It looked very small to her, but she didn't try to tell them this.

"But she's getting better," Sherlock pointed out. "She's getting more and more words right every day. Especially when she's concentrating."

"Yes she is, but that part of her brain is still scarred, so she won't have easy access to it. The good news, Scarlet, is that brains are very elastic, and it's possible for bits of it to learn to take over the roles of bits of it that are struggling. What seems to have already started happening in your brain is that other bits are covering the work of that little piece. So instead of all your words being filed there in your language bit, you're having to remember them in your long term memory, and probably also in the part which helps you to learn things."

Scarlet sorted through the parts of the brain on the bed and picked up the two pieces marked 'long term memory' and 'learning'.

Sam smiled at her. "That's right. Now the problem is, there are a lot of words. Loads of them. And there are loads of grammar rules too. So your brain will have to start learning them and filing them in a different place. And not only that, but all the bits of your brain that work together to make your mouth and your vocal cords work will have to learn to listen to another part of your brain that they're not used to. Eventually, you'll probably be very fast at retrieving them and getting everything organised in your head, and your talking will be nearly normal. OK?"

She stared at the bits of brain again. She nodded.

"One thing you will have to do, is try to speak whenever possible. You need to try to get your brain to learn again and you're not going to learn without practising. Now I think you know the words 'yes' and 'no', but you prefer to nod your head because it's easier. But as long as you do that, your brain and your mouth aren't learning to work together again. Do you understand?"

She closed her eyes and concentrated. "… Yes."

There was a slight smug look on her face and Sherlock rejoiced about it.

"Good. I knew you were clever," Sam told her.

"Let's not go too far," John said. "She did try to climb up a building."

"Yes, well if you can promise me you won't actually climb the walls again, Scarlet, how would you feel about going home today?"

"… Yes!"

"Wait a minute," Sherlock said, alarmed. "She's not exactly better, is she!"

"… Home!"

"Scarlet is well on her way to recovery. It will take time, and I want to see her weekly for a bit, but she's at the point where she'll be better off at home."

"… Yes!"

"But the seizures!" John said. He was holding on to the sleeve of Sherlock's shirt quite tightly.

Sam nodded. "Look, the Epilim is controlling things fairly well so far at the moment, but I will want to see her regularly for a while. I'm going to make an outpatients appointment for you in a week."

"But what should we do if she has a seizure in the meantime?"

"Well, that depends on the severity of the seizure. Certainly if anything happens, I'll need you to take a note of it and we'll discuss it next week. If there's anything particularly uncontrollable, call an ambulance like you would for anyone else."

"But… but…" John said.

Sherlock turned to him. "He's right. She needs to be at home now. We can take care of her."

"… Please!" Scarlet said to him.

"See, John, she wants it so badly she's remembered another word! One that's never been a favourite either!"

John smiled at the joke and nodded. He didn't look happy though.

Sherlock squeezed his arm slightly. "We'll take care of her John. Let's take her home."


	24. Sir Sherlock

**I thought you all deserved a slight change of tone following the hardness of the last couple. I would like to explore some of the difficulties they experienced in that year, and a couple might have crept in here too. But they did have some fun times too…**

**

* * *

**_She's been out of hospital a month._

"Scarlet, what do you want on your toast?" Sherlock asked.

"Hotel… waves… yellow…butter."

Sherlock turned and looked at her with a smile.

"You know, it was hotel waves yellow-butter yesterday too."

"I like… hotel… hotel… butter."

"No, you miss my point."

"Post's here!" John said, coming in and interrupting them.

"John, do you remember that hotel we stayed at in Devon when Scarlet was about four?"

"I remember you promising us a family holiday before sodding off to chase an imaginary dog across moorland for two weeks."

"A simple 'yes' would have done. Anyway, do you remember how they used to make butter curls and have bowls of them on the table at breakfast? Scarlet was fascinated by them."

"I remember you let her eat an entire bowlful, then left me alone to deal with the resulting vomit."

"Again, 'yes' would suffice. Anyhow, Scarlet, I think that's what your brain is remembering when you think of butter."

She shrugged and took the toast from him.

"Do you think Jane would let me look at her brain on her machine?" Sherlock asked.

"You could ask her I suppose."

"Ques… ask me too! It's my… hos… hos… brain."

"Yes, sorry Scarlet. Would you let me look? If Jane said yes? I think it would do you good to meet her anyway. She's very good on brains."

"I know… Jane."

"Yes, of course you do. Sorry, I meant in a professional capacity, not just as a Emily's Mother."

"On Her Majesty's Service!" John read, holding an expensive looking envelope. "What on earth could the Queen want with me?"

"With you? Isn't it for me? It's from Mycroft."

"Got my name on it!"

"He'd better not be offering _you_ a knighthood!"

John smiled as he opened it. "It is from Mycroft." He smiled as he read the cover note, then glanced at the official letter underneath it. "'Dear John, please make sure Sherlock accepts this, I'm bored with him refusing.' There you go, Sherlock, the knighthood's still for you."

"Tell him to sod off."

"Would you like to go to Buckingham Palace, Scarlet, and see Sherlock get an award from the Queen?"

"Yes!"

"It's not going to happen," Sherlock said.

"Could I… could I… new… new… new… hall… cake… dress!"

"I could get you a new dress anyway, Scarlet. You don't need to wait for a knighthood each time."

"Not… the Queen."

"The Queen is just a person like anyone else."

"No… she's…the Queen!"

Sherlock looked at her sternly. "I refuse believe I've raised a Royalist."

"No. But… John did."

"Not going to happen. You can tell him no."

"Yes I could. Or I could tell him yes."

"Yes, but you will tell him no."

"Or I might tell him yes. Look, there are three passes here. He clearly thinks it would be a nice family day out."

"It wouldn't be."

"It could be."

"It really couldn't."

"Maybe me and Scarlet could go and pick it up on your behalf."

"You'd look pretty silly going without me."

"Does the Queen know what you look like?"

"Of course she does."

"Then why won't you go?"

Sherlock sighed.

"Please!" Scarlet put in. "I… bet… bet… no-one at… brick… brick… white… brick…" she squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment and took a breath. "… school! Has a… Dad… that's a… a… a… that's a… a…. No."

"Close your eyes, Scarlet, and relax," Sherlock told her quietly. "Picture the word you want to say." He could see John biting his lip so he didn't blurt the word out for her.

She calmed down and focused the way he told her to. "a… a… a…" she opened her eyes again and looked at him. "No. Not there." She looked entirely defeated.

He reached over and held her hand. "Don't worry, we'll get there."

He noted John was staying quiet. He guiltily remembered the way he'd attacked him for talking for her the night before. They'd made friends again, and John had agreed it was both rude and unhelpful to finish her sentences for her, but Sherlock knew he'd shown an unnecessary amount of anger about it.

Scarlet looked despondent for a moment. Suddenly she leapt up and ran into the lounge, scouring the bookshelf. She found what she was looking for and ran back to the table with it, and started flicking through the pages. Sherlock and John watched her. She found the page she was looking for.

"Knight! A knight!"

Sherlock's head dropped slightly as he smiled.

"There you go, Sherlock," John said with his arms crossed across his head. "How could you possibly say no to that!"

oOo

Across London, another breakfast meeting was in progress.

"And I'm absolutely sure I can rely on your discretion," Mycroft said.

"Well obviously!" Lestrade replied. "I just don't think it's going to happen."

"I'm confident that on this occasion he'll end up saying yes."

"He never has before. What's it been? Six times you've asked him and he's never said yes?"

"Nine refusals in total."

"Well there you go. I'm amazed Lizzie hasn't taken the insult and stopped asking him."

"Please don't call Her Majesty 'Lizzie', Greg."

"Sorry."

"Her preferred shortening is Lilly-Bet."

"I'm not calling the Queen of England Lilly-Bet."

"No, I should think not. And she's the Queen of the Commonwealth Realms."

"Does that, or does that not include England."

"It does."

"Then stop being a fussy old pedant."

Mycroft smiled at him. "Let me ask you to consider this, Gregory. You intend to retire next July. You intend to have a small gathering at the Four Pins pub, with perhaps a handful of friends. I very much want to throw a huge party with hundreds of guests at some point in the next few years. I could do it now, or I could wait until next July. Which would you prefer?"

"Why just have a wedding like everyone else does?"

"Was that a proposal?"

"God no. You could ask someone else more appropriate though."

"This will be more fun."

"Not to Sherlock. He hates parties. He wouldn't even have one for his own wedding."

"He agreed to one after the adoption."

"Yes, but that's because John cunningly sold it to him as a party for Scarlet."

"I know. And I've cunningly utilised the good Doctor to ensure that Sherlock accepts this knighthood."

"Why don't you get him on board with the party then?"

"Because Sherlock would get it out of him in seconds, and then the surprise would be ruined."

"Let me be clear. You are just doing this because you know how much Sherlock will hate it, aren't you?"

"Yes of course."

"So… humiliating your brother in front of a hall full of his acquaintances… that's considered a fun activity in your strange little world."

"Yes."

"And you don't care that it will probably cost you thousands and thousands of pounds to do it. It's worth it for causing your brother a few hours of distress."

"Yes. That's about it."

"You have an evil and cold mind."

"Thank you."

"It must be very strange being you."

"It is. That doesn't mean I can't enjoy myself occasionally though."

Lestrade smiled and thought about them all for a moment. "Have you seen Scarlet recently?"

"I was there at the weekend."

"Is she improving at all?"

"I think she is slowly. I think part of her difficulty is that she doesn't generally like doing things slowly."

"No. Poor kid."

"Yes. I think she's also finding the outpouring of sympathy frustrating too."

"Yes. I'll remember that when I get across to see her. Hey, do you think she could keep our secret? It would be quite nice to bring her in on it."

Lestrade considered. "Well, at the moment she probably has something of an advantage with that. She'd be excited though. Sherlock would guess from that and any other clues she might leave lying around very quickly."

"She might enjoy helping though. It might be nice for her to do something fun like that. Besides which, neither you nor I know how to throw a party."

"Yes, I think you're right. I'll talk to her next time I see her."

"We'll need other help. Do you think Mrs Hudson would?"

"Yes. And she'll be discreet too."

"Well then, I think that's probably enough of a committee."

"And you'll help? You'll be part of the 'let's humiliate Sherlock' team?"

"Don't call it that in front of Scarlet! She's fiercely loyal to him."

"I know. I have no idea what he's done to deserve that."

"Are you jealous?"

"Yes, of course. Stop avoiding the subject. Will you help?"

"If it means I can avoid having a retirement bash, I'd probably agree to anything. I still don't think Sherlock will say yes to the knighthood though."

"Well, that could be Scarlet's job."

"Yes. She has more hold over him than anyone but John."

"More I'd say."

"Perhaps."

oOo

Mycroft visited Scarlet again the next day, turning up with yet another expensive gift for her.

"You can't give he a Smart Phone, Mycroft!" John protested.

"Why ever not? The contract is taken care of, it's my gift to her."

"Well, because she'll lose it apart from anything else! She looses everything! If you want to give her a phone, then feel free, but at least get her something that's almost disposable and that I can replace easily!"

"She won't lose it. Learn to trust her a little, John."

"Mycroft! Don't tell me…" John started loudly. With an effort, he controlled himself and stopped. He held onto the back of an armchair for a moment and stared at the floor. "Sorry. Sorry, actually Scout's due a walk. I'll be back in a bit." He whistled for her and she was by his side instantly. He grabbed her lead on the way out of the door.

"Have I offended him?" Mycroft asked Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at Scarlet who was looking concerned and staring at the floor. He shook his head. "Let's see your new phone, Scarlet. I want to see if it's better than the one he bought me!"

"It is. Hers is newer."

"Traitor."

"Hardly."

They spent some time showing Scarlet how to use it and showed her how do download apps. When John came in a little later he joined them and he laughed with them when she took a photo of him and made his nose enormous. She set his number to speed-dial 1 and he knew this was her way of showing him she was still his first and formost. He felt mildly ashamed.

He needed have worried anyhow. Scarlet loved the phone like it was her child and was never parted from it. She slept with it under her pillow. Every now and again it would chirp at her and she'd jump up and run downstairs to Mrs Hudson's flat.

"Do you think Mycroft is using it for mind control?" John asked, watching her leave on one such occasion.

"I wouldn't put it past him. He's almost certainly tracking her on GPS."

"That I mind less. There'll be trouble when she's not allowed to take it to school." John said one day, watching her skip out of the room again.

"Why couldn't she? You have to admit it's done her some good. Between that, the painting and the guitar there she can spend hours and hours feeling completely normal."

"She still can't, Sherlock. She's not allowed a phone in school."

"But there are special circumstances…"

"None of which will be altered with her having a phone in school. She can either have special treatment, or she can't, Sherlock. You can't have it both ways."

"No. I know."

"And we do need to get her back to school soon. It's not going to get any easier the longer she's off."

"I know."

"Let's make an appointment with the school tomorrow."

"OK."

Sherlock sighed. He was under the impression that some of John's motivation was that he wanted Scarlet out of the house a bit. But then, he suspected some of his own motivation for avoiding this was that he'd enjoyed having her around so much.

Scarlet started back the week following half term. She managed a day and a half before they got a phone call from the office because she was not coping.

John went to talk to her. He found her red eyed and shaking, sat in the corner of the school office and he felt guilty that he'd pushed her to come back. The secretary decided she had something else to do in the hall so that they could chat in peace. He squatted beside her chair to talk to her.

"What happened, Scarlet?"

"I can't… do it."

"You can't do what?"

"All… any of it."

"Is it the work or the talking?"

"All… of it."

John sighed. "Scarlet, I know it's hard, but you need to keep trying. You need to be able to come to school."

"Please no. Please home."

"You can't stay home forever."

"My head hurts."

This was tricky. Scarlet had had several migraines since the accident as well as several more seizures. Though he suspected this was a lie, he liked the fact that there was an easy excuse to take her home again.

"OK. We'll need to try again tomorrow though."

Her relief was palpable as she nodded.

The headteacher, Mrs Rush put her head around the door. "Dr Watson, could I perhaps have a chat?"

He glanced at Scarlet. "Will you wait here for me?" She nodded again.

He went into the corridor.

"I was thinking, Mr Watson, whether we've taken the return to school a bit too suddenly for Scarlet. What do you think of a phased return? I'd like to see her full time by Christmas, but for the next couple of weeks, what do you think about her attending no more than two days a week? Or perhaps mornings or afternoons only?"

"My worry about that would be that she'll get further behind. I think some of her difficulty at the moment is that her class have settled into their new class and got into the new routine and are further ahead. The speaking is clearly going to be a problem but there's nothing we can do about that. The schoolwork shouldn't be though; her ability to learn hasn't been affected."

"No, but from what you've told me her brain is learning and working on the speech constantly, so it's wouldn't be surprising if she's already exhausted before it needs to start going on the schoolwork."

"That's a good point."

"Look, it's up to you, I'm not going to send her away or say she can't come in, but I think it would be better if she didn't start thinking of school with dread."

"Yes. Yes you're right."

"There's another thing. Do you think it might help her to have a little extra classroom support? Obviously Mr Cooper and Mrs Heely will do what they can, but they have a whole class. If Scarlet had friends and family that might want to pop in for an hour every now and again, she might be a touch calmer."

"Yes. That might be a good idea. Look, I'm going to take her home now. But we'll chat with Sherlock and we can see what we can do. Can we call you tomorrow?"

"Yes, that would be fine."

He took Scarlet home. She came into the lounge and looked sheepishly at Sherlock.

"She has a headache," John told him.

"Do you need a bucket?" Sherlock asked her.

She shook her head, and walked over to climb onto him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and looked over her at John. John shrugged.

"We've got to do something to get her back to school," he said.

"Maybe slowly though."

"Yeah, that's what Mrs Rush said."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Yes. Yes it probably is."

"So should she try to go tomorrow?"

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Try to make it sound like it's all up to me because you know that I'm feeling like none of it is."

Sherlock shifted Scarlet slightly but continued to stare down John.

"OK, fine," John said. "We'll chat together and decide what we should do, together."

Scarlet looked around quickly. "Not… Friday though. Because… party!"

John smiled. "It's more of a ceremony actually, Scarlet. You might be a bit disappointed if you're expecting cake and dancing."

"… yes."

Sherlock looked at her sharply and considered her for a while. "Scarlet, could I perhaps borrow your phone?"

"… no. So… bee… bee… school?"

They decided they'd take a duel approach. Scarlet would to school in the mornings four days a week, and the two of them would go in and do group reading, and perhaps one or two other people would be asked to go in to give talks and demonstrations. She would be picked up at lunchtime, along with a pile of books and papers for her to study in the afternoon. They found they were all a lot more comfortable with this approach.

Scarlet's headache miraculously disappeared.

oOo

Friday arrived. Scarlet was bright and energetic and ready to leave several hours before it was strictly necessary.

John and Sherlock left her playing a game on her phone, as they got ready.

"Sherlock?" John called from the bedroom.

"What?"

"Can you help me with my tie?"

Sherlock appeared in the doorway with a smile.

"John I was wondering… do you think before we got ready we've got time for, well, anything really?"

"Scarlet's awake."

"Oh she'll be glued to that damn phone…"

"I thought you approved of the phone."

"I've changed my mind."

"Is that because you couldn't get it off her?"

"Perhaps. Are you absolutely sure there is nothing planned. I mean, beyond this preposterous event."

"No, I told you, I have nothing planned. I'd like to, but I know you'd hate it."

"I would hate it."

"I know. You shouldn't do though, you should be happy about showing it off. Sherlock, you know I'm incredibly proud of you. I need you know that. It's been a crazy, hideous few months, and I've been distracted, but I am really incredibly proud of you for this. And I think that you deserve it."

Sherlock kissed him.

"I'm still not having sex with you right now though," John told him.

They got to the palace on time, thanks largely to Scarlet's excitement and the fact that she'd texted the cab firm and arranged to have one waiting at the door.

Mycroft was hovering to meet them at the Palace entrance and watched them all come through security.

"Sherlock, you could have made a little effort," Mycroft scolded him.

"What do you mean? I think he looks fine! Nice even," John protested.

"He's wearing green cufflinks, John. Green!"

Sherlock smirked at him.

John shook his head. "Is there any etiquette we should know about?" He asked.

"Try not to say anything insulting. Refer to Her Majesty as 'Your Majesty' in the first instance, and 'Ma'am' thereafter. I think it would be best if Sherlock didn't say anything at all."

"She's giving me a _knighthood_, Mycroft."

"Yes. Well, we'd better get on with it." He and Sherlock walked side by side, with John and Scarlet trailing them, looking at everything.

"I thought that you were all for the knighthood," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, I don't have an award for being a good parent. This I could do."

Sherlock frowned. "I have a mug that says 'World's Best Dad'."

"Well if I'd have known that I wouldn't have bothered with this."

"Well, John's got one the same, so perhaps it doesn't have quite as much integrity than it states. On the other hand, Scarlet gave it to me, so it's probably better than this."

"John is a better Father than you. Couldn't get him a knighthood yet. I'm working on it though."

He showed them into a room and they took their seats. Scarlet was indeed a little disappointed with the ceremony and wondered to herself why she had to sit and watch all the other people get knighthoods. She slipped her phone out of her bag. Sherlock noticed and took it from her with a stern shake of his head. His name was called and he had to hand it to John so as not to approach the Queen armed with a mobile phone.

Afterwards they all walked into a hall where there was a buffet table and an amount of mingling and photos being taken.

"Let me see the medal," John said and Sherlock passed it over.

John smiled, looking at it. "Well done Sherlock."

"Oh it was easy. I just walked up there and the Queen handed it to me."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know." He leaned forward and kissed John.

"Ah, Sherlock, there you are, tenth time the charm then?"

Sherlock broke away and turned round. "Yes Your Majesty. Thank you. And, sorry about the other nine."

"That's quite all right, Sherlock. Mycroft's explained it all to me."

"Has he, Ma'am?"

"And is this your husband?"

"What? Oh, yes. Sorry, Ma'am. This is my husband, John Watson, and our daughter, Scarlet."

John bowed and Scarlet bobbed a curtsey and blushed.

"I'm very pleased to meet you both. I'm pleased young Sherlock finally has someone to look after him."

"Not… young!" Scarlet said, and blushed further. "Sorry… Ma'am… no… Your… Your… Your…" She looked close to crying by this point.

"It's OK, Scarlet," John told her. "Close your eyes and calm down." He stroked her head gently.

"…Majesty."

"That's fine, Scarlet. I think that you can call me Lilly-Bet if you prefer."

Scarlet smiled gratefully, but didn't try to respond.

"Aphasia, Your Majesty," John told her. "She had a bad fall."

"Ah yes, your children like to make you worry I find. But then they give you grandchildren and it all gets better again. I'm sure Scarlet will make you very, very proud."

"Oh, she does every day, Ma'am," Sherlock told her.

"Well then, I'll look forward to giving her an OBE in a few years. Though I imagine that young Charles will be there by that time. Well, Old Charles I imagine for you, Scarlet." She smiled at her. "Maybe you'll get lucky and it will be William. I have quite a soft spot for that boy." She looked back at John and Sherlock. "Yes I think in my case, the grandchildren are the thing."

They bowed again as she left them to talk to another group.

John was smiling looking quite smug. "My husband has and OBE and my Daughter is on first name terms with the Queen. I think it's been a good day."

"Not… not… finished yet."

"Yes, Scarlet, may I see your phone please?" Sherlock asked again.

"… no."

Mycroft appeared as if from nowhere and suggested he gave them all a lift to Baker Street. They hadn't been in the car long before Sherlock realised they were not going home.

"No, really, Mycroft, lives depend on this: where are you taking me?"

"What lives?"

"Primarily yours. Though I'm beginning to suspect Scarlet of something."

She grinned at him.

"Just relax, Sherlock. It will all be over soon."

"Are you sure you don't know what's going on?" he asked John.

"No idea. I'm beginning to get an idea though! And I find I like it!"

"I hate you all."

* * *

**Bah! I've done that thing where it's late and I've run out of steam and I can't work out how to finish the chapter. So I'll leave it with Sherlock hating everyone.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and please review.**

**Pip xxx**


	25. The Row

**This one has again come out of a conversation with Verity. We discussed make-up sex and how delightful it can be. Unfortunately, to give you make-up sex I must first give you a bit of a break-up. So heads up that this one will be a touch turbulent.**

**

* * *

**_It's nearly two weeks after 'School'._

Sherlock came into the front door with two bags full of shopping, and almost walked straight into Mrs Hudson.

"Oh Sherlock! I was about to call you!" She looked tense and worried.

He was immediately distracted by the noise coming from the flat upstairs. Scarlet was screaming, she appeared to have abandoned trying to talk at all. John was bellowing "Get off! Get the hell off me!" Scout was barking.

Sherlock dropped the bags and darted up the stairs. He heard John yelp in pain.

The scene when Sherlock got to the lounge door was alarming enough to stop him in his tracks briefly.

Scarlet had clearly flown at John, hitting him with her fingers clawing and he had a new scratch across his left cheek. He was up against the window, next to the bookshelf; he couldn't back away further. She'd backed off slightly, but was still out of control and crying hysterically. She was still slapping at him, weakly and ineffectively. Sherlock watched as John raised his hand up. As Sherlock headed towards them, John seemed to just barely control himself and think better of this action. He did push her away though, far harder than was necessary.

She was caught off balance, staggered but was caught by the armchair and fell backwards over it.

John looked horrified and he started towards her but Sherlock was there first, kneeling over her, helping her to her feet. As she stood up, Sherlock was between her and John.

"Did you hit your head? Are you OK?" he asked her quietly.

She nodded at him, red faced and covered with snot and tears.

"Scarlet, I'm sorry…" John said helplessly.

Sherlock looked at him over his shoulder. "Shut up!" He turned back to Scarlet. "Can you go and wait in your room? No, actually, go downstairs and wait with Mrs Hudson. OK?"

She nodded again and fled, with Scout right behind her.

"Oh, of course," John sneered from behind him. "Of course you'll take her side without even hearing mine!

Sherlock spun round to face him. "Your side? Your side? I don't remotely care about your side right now, John, but listen here, if you ever raise your hand to her again I will tear you limb from limb! Never, ever do that again!"

"I didn't! I would never hit her!"

"Really? You came close to hitting me two weeks ago! I don't care, John, I can take care of myself, but I swear if you ever go to strike her again, that's it, we're gone! We'll be out the house and somewhere else and you will never be afforded the opportunity again!"

"Don't threaten me, Sherlock!"

"Threaten you! God damn it, John! It's not even a threat; it's a statement of fact! This bullshit stops now! It stops right now!"

"Oh yes, of course, you'd love that, wouldn't you. You can Scarlet can run off and play happy families all by yourself, with you her noble protector, and it will all be my fault. I wouldn't want to get in your way there!"

"You think this is because of us? You think we've done something to leave you out? For fuck's sake, John, if you want to be her father then step up to the plate and be her fucking father! You're welcome at any time but you seem to prefer wallowing in a pit of self pity instead!"

"What would you have me do, Sherlock? I'll help with the schoolwork, oh no, you've got that covered. Help with her speech? Oh no, there you are again! Should I learn the violin so we can play duets together? No, what's the point! Fuck it, Sherlock, I went to fucking medical school and who's there when she's seizing? Oh yes! It's you!"

"What would you want me to do?" Sherlock bellowed. "Do you expect me to walk away from her and wait for your panic attack to end so as not to upset your sense of self worth? Yes, of course I'll watch my child suffer on her own so as not to tread on your precious toes!"

"She's not your child!"

Sherlock gasped and stepped back. "Yes she is!" he breathed. "Yes she is!"

"Yes she is, because I gave her to you! Because you'd taken everything else away from me so what was the point of clinging on to her, hey? And oh look, it's happened, you've taken her too! Well done, Sherlock fucking Holmes!"

"Taken…? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about everything! All of it, Sherlock! All the time I've always come second place to you! My life is completely unrecognisable! All the John Watson I was, all the life I'd ever built up for myself is all gone! It's all been stripped away by you, leaving me with the life that you seem to think is better for me! I wasn't even gay until I met you, and look now, I'm suddenly a spokesperson for gay fucking rights! You've taken everything, Sherlock! You've taken everything from me!"

Sherlock stood there, swaying slightly, unable to breathe.

"I didn't… I didn't…" he stammered. He was blinking back tears that were building.

"You DID!" John screamed at him. "You did, Sherlock! And what have you ever given me in return? Nothing but stress and worry and bullshit! It's always, always been all about you taking exactly what you want and me getting nothing in return!"

Sherlock broke and bellowed. "I don't have anything to give you, you stupid little man! I was nothing before you! Nothing!" He stepped back, shaking and swiping at tears he couldn't stop. "You know what? Fine. I'm done here. You can have your life to do whatever you want with. I'm through."

He walked away, taking deep shuddering breaths. John watched him, feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Sherlock was already halfway across the landing before he was able to breathe enough to raise a whimper.

"Please don't go."

He was worried he hadn't been loud enough but Sherlock faltered and then stopped. He turned and leaned back against the wall, covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

John came and stood in front of him. He tried to move Sherlock's hands from his face but couldn't.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" he whispered. He was crying too now. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that. I didn't mean any of that. I'm just… I'm a mess. I'm sorry. Please don't go. Please stay with me."

Sherlock continued to sob and sob. He finally spoke from behind his hands.

"John, I don't think I can keep doing this!" He moved his hands and looked up at the stairs. "I hate this. I hate doing this over and over and feeling this shit all over again. I don't like fighting with you. I hate, hate the feeling that you don't get anything from me when I've loved all of being with you so much! I can't stay."

"I hate feeling this way too! I hate fighting with you."

"Then I should leave. I won't… I can't not see Scarlet, but I won't take her from you."

John was already shaking his head. "No, Sherlock, please!"

"But we can't keep fighting like this! It's awful!"

"Yes, I know. But… but… please don't leave. Please! I love you. I love you so much, even while I'm screaming at you, even while I was saying all that awful stuff I couldn't work out why I'd say such hurtful things when I love you so much! Because I do, and this fighting hurts!"

Sherlock shook his head and sobbed. He didn't leave though. John gently held the sides of his head and kissed him very gently, kissing the salty tears away. He leaned Sherlock's forehead against his own.

"Please Sherlock, leaving can't be the only way through this. It just can't!"

Sherlock continued to sob, but he leaned forward to rest on John's shoulder. John wrapped his arms around him and held him for a while. Slowly, Sherlock's hands crept up to hold on tightly to John.

John was vaguely aware that someone had come in the front door and was coming up the steps. He didn't move though, he just hoped they'd go away and sure enough they seemed to linger on the first flight, then descend again.

They must have stood there for a full ten minutes before Sherlock appeared to calm down slightly and his breathing settled.

He pulled away and looked at John. "John, you're miserable at the moment, aren't you. That was true, you're miserable."

John looked glum, but he nodded. "Yes, yes I'm pretty miserable." He swiped some tears from his own face. "But I'm fairly certain I'm not miserable with you."

"Depressed?"

"No. It's just… well, it's all a bit shit really, isn't it?" He looked up at Sherlock. "Please will you stay just tonight? I won't keep you here if you want to go, but please can we at least try and talk about this before you do? Don't just walk out."

Sherlock looked away for a while. Eventually he nodded. John led him into the lounge and sat him down on the sofa. "I'll make you some tea."

He stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. He could hear Sherlock move on the sofa in the quiet of the flat. He could hear him sniffing. He tried to think clearly enough to know how to start the conversation that needed to happen, but his head was pounding with the crying. He carried two mugs of tea through to the lounge. Sherlock had at least removed his coat, which gave John some small hope.

"Sherlock, I have to go and talk to Scarlet for a moment. I need to check she's OK. Will you stay here until I get back?"

Sherlock nodded. "Course."

John ran down the stairs and knocked on Mrs Hudson's flat door. He felt uncomfortable, knowing that by now Scarlet would have filled her in on the row and the push, but there was nothing for it. Scarlet had to be here where she was safe and he had to talk to her.

Mrs Hudson looked timid when she opened the door and John felt ashamed of himself. She let him in though. Scarlet was curled up on an armchair with a mug of hot chocolate. She was still crying slightly and looked very afraid.

Lestrade was there too, and John assumed he must have a case on. He decided that Sherlock couldn't be spared just now but he couldn't be bothered to explain. He looked back to Scarlet.

"Scarlet, can we talk?" he asked her.

She nodded.

They went into Mrs Hudson's spare room.

"Is… is… Sherlock…?"

"He's still here, Scarlet. Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I've messed things up big time, and I'm sorry for it. And I'm so, so sorry that I pushed you. It was utterly wrong and I'll never ever do something like that again. I'm sorry."

She looked at him and nodded. She looked terribly sad.

"Scarlet, darling, Sherlock and I need to do some talking tonight. Can you stay here with Mrs Hudson please? It's just… we need some time to talk properly. Do you understand?"

She nodded again. "Are you… breaking… up?"

John's eyes filled again. He shook his head. "I don't know, Scarlet. I hope not, I really do, but we have to talk. I can't make him stay if he's unhappy. There's no point us being in the house together if we're unhappy and angry with each other all the time."

She nodded again. Her head drooped.

"Scarlet, I'm sorry. I can't promise you anything. All I can say is that we want to try and at least to talk. I'm sorry."

She nodded again and picked up his hand to kiss it. She squeezed it slightly before letting it go. His tears finally fell at this small and quiet demonstration of love. He felt very small.

"Thank you, Scarlet."

She chose to stay in the bedroom for a moment and he on his own to ask Mrs Hudson if she could take Scarlet for the night. She looked worried and old as she tried to smile at him in an encouraging fashion.

"Of course, love. You take your time. I'll look after her."

Lestrade followed him out.

"John, are you OK?"

John stared at him for a moment, wondering what on earth he could mean. "Greg, I'm sorry, but I don't think Sherlock can work tonight."

Lestrade frowned. "No, no I didn't come round for that."

John frowned, then he realised. "Shit, we really scared Mrs Hudson, didn't we."

"Yes. She wanted me to come round just in case it got out of hand. She didn't feel up to intervening with Scarlet in the flat too."

John took a deep breath. "OK. Sorry. I'm… sorry."

"It's OK. It happens. Look, I hope things work out, OK?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He watched Lestrade leave and then he went back upstairs. Sherlock was still on the sofa. He appeared calmer now, and had stopped crying. He looked up when John came in.

"I was thirsty, so I drank yours too."

John looked down at the empty mugs. "It's fine."

Sherlock stared at the mugs too. "No it's not. Sorry. I'll make you another cup."

"It's fine."

But Sherlock had already got up and walked into the kitchen. John followed him and watched as he filled the kettle and turned it on again. He found a mug and dropped a tea-bag into it. When he turned around, John was still there, watching him with a slightly amused look on his face.

"Sherlock, is this a strange kind of allegory where your doing a strange acting out of not taking things from me, but with tea instead of life?"

"I'm not even sure what that question was supposed to mean."

John snorted. "No."

"It's just tea, John. The crying made me thirsty, and you cried too so I thought you might want tea. In addition; you really like tea."

"Oh."

"Is this going to be one of those conversations where we both sit there listening to the other say one thing, while simultaneously wondering whether they actually mean the words their saying, or whether they mean something else more sinister?"

"God I hope not."

"Yes, I don't think I have the energy for that."

The kettle boiled and Sherlock made the tea. He handed it to John, who looked at him a moment, then nodded him to follow him back to the lounge. They sat side by side on the sofa, staring at the fireplace.

"Do you want the fire on?" John asked Sherlock.

"No. Do you?"

"No I'm fine. I just don't want you to be cold."

"No. I'm not."

"Good."

"Good.

They sat there for another few moments.

"So," Sherlock said, "when you envisioned this conversation, what were either of us actually saying?"

John snorted again. "Actually, we're not upsetting each other and you're making jokes. This is better than I'd ever hoped for."

"But we'll be in the same place in the morning."

"Yes."

"So then…"

John sighed. "I don't actually know. Sherlock, I wonder, what would you think about going to counselling?"

Sherlock frowned and looked at him. "Do you think I need it?"

"No, no, I don't mean you, I mean both of us. Couples counselling." He found himself blushing as he made the suggestion.

Sherlock took it seriously though, and thought about it for a moment. "Well, on the one hand, you've seen two separate counsellors and they were both crap, so I'm not amazingly confident that this one work either."

"No, but to be fair to the profession and indeed the two counsellors I saw, I did spend a fair amount of time either lying, or simply refusing to talk to them. There's only so much they can do when they're facing that."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well, I was mentally ill, Sherlock."

"Ah yes. So what you're saying is that only the mentally well can get the best out of a therapist."

John smiled. "Well, it's not as cut and dried as that. Some mentally ill people are actually quite sensible."

"Right. Well, on the other hand, I think spending any time with you when we're together, and talking with each other would be nice. If that means counselling, then I'll take it."

"But you'd rather not."

"No. I'd rather just talk to you. I mean at first. If it turns out we need guidance, then yes."

"OK."

They stared at the fireplace some more.

"So…" John started. Sherlock looked at him. "Well, you just said you wanted to talk to me."

"Yes. I do..."

"But?"

"But I don't want to upset you."

"OK. Well, I think we're going to have to take the risk. I'll try not to get upset, but we're getting nowhere with the not trying to upset each other."

"Mm. I wonder, as trying not to upset each other seems to result in us spectacularly upsetting each other, perhaps having no such concern will result in us comforting each other."

"Could do. Or we could end up killing each other."

"You're not helping me start."

"Sorry. But look, we both know that none of this works if we're playing games. We know that. So…"

"John, you're miserable at the moment. I know you say that everything you said wasn't necessarily true, but I think it's based on truth. I think part of you feels left out, and out of control, and… miserable."

"Yes. I am pretty miserable at the moment."

"And you're angry."

"Yes I am. But, and I know you won't believe this straight away, I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with the situation. I'm angry for Scarlet because she's stuck somewhere and there's nothing that can be done about it. And I'm angry because once again I want to be able to make it all better for someone I love, and I can't."

"You were wrong."

"About…"

"I did believe you straight away. I do; it make sense."

"Oh. Well, it might be reasonable to say that I am slightly angry with you too."

"Why? Was it… any of those things you said before? Was it because you don't think you have any choices and I have all of them?"

"No, that was just pathetic of me, and I am sorry. Of course I have choices. And what I said about Scarlet not being… That was unforgivable. I'm sorry."

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"If it helps at all, I'm utterly ashamed of myself for even thinking it. I feel like a complete shit."

"Yes, that helps a bit."

John snorted again. "Well then, that's something."

"So why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not! Only I sort of am. Only I'm not really. Apart from…"

Sherlock was looking at him with a frown, but not interrupting. John frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose to think.

"OK." He turned and sat cross legged on the sofa, facing Sherlock. "OK, I'm not an expert, but I think what's happening is this. You are better than me at everything…"

"Not everything."

"No, well, the rubbish stuff like cooking and cleaning I can do better…"

"Only because I don't try."

"Shut up. OK, at most things, you're clearly better. You're brilliant, you're extremely clever, you're energetic, you think things so quickly, you are, even now you're older, exceptionally hot. You are, in short, brilliant. Now, that's never bothered me, because I've always been happy enough with what I can do, because I know there's some stuff that I can do brilliantly. So it's fine.

"But the one thing I've always been better at is communicating. I've always known what people are thinking and feeling and that's been something I can do. And Scarlet's always responded to that. I know what she thinks and feels and needs. And you are absolutely her Dad in every which way, but still, I've always been the person she comes to when she's confused about something and she wants to chat.

"But now, that's all gone. She came out of the hospital, and I spend so much of my time actually terrified of her. I'm constantly scared shitless that her brain is going to explode. And that's kept me so paralysed, that I haven't been able to focus on what she actually needs day to day, so by the time I'd got my arse in gear and worked out what she needed, you were already there, providing it. And it didn't matter anyway because I'd generally then get terrified of her again. And then I've been resentful that she's made me so terrified and then I don't even want to help her, and then when I do want to help her you're there!

"And worse than that, I was then in a situation where I was so far behind that I actually couldn't understand her, so she doesn't even want to come to me any more. Today was awful because I messed up. And I _still_ can't work out what she was trying to say, and I can't excuse myself for it, because it's been over a year, and I should be there by now, and I'm not."

Sherlock frowned. "So you're angry with me because you can't do something."

"Yes. And no. And also… yes. But it's not just that. It's not even just straightforward jealousy, which would be bad enough. It's that… Sherlock, I've watched you with her for a year and I'm actually amazed. She's pushed you and pushed and you've never been anything other than completely patient and kind with her. Even when you know she's done something wrong, you don't get angry, you just calmly and gently tell her off and she accepts it. You never talk over her or interrupt, and you never lose patience. I know that you've said in the past that the adoption certificate means you can't walk away, but this is more than that. You have somehow turned in to the absolute model of parenting. It's… weird. It's like you've become this whole other person, just for her."

"And you're angry with me for it? Why? Is it that you think I'm just pretending again?"

"No, no." He looked up sharply. "You're not, are you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "John, forgive me, but this does sound awfully like jealousy."

"No, I know. And yes, part of me is jealous that you can just assume the mantle of 'perfect parent' when you need to, and I clearly can't, but it's not just that. Sherlock, you don't know how it hard it is to feel this completely inadequate day in, day out. I know that's my problem, I know I should just get a grip, I know that it's not your fault, and I sure as hell know that Scarlet needs a parent like you right now, and I honestly am pleased she's got one. I just… wish I didn't feel so completely rubbish about myself all the time. I want to be the perfect parent, and you are just doing it like it's perfectly natural for you. And every time you make her smile I reminds me I can't, and I feel genuinely shitty about feeling that way about my own daughter. I used to want her to smile. Now…"

John had been trying to blink away tears during this speech, but he had brushed them away rather than give in to the emotion he was feeling. Sherlock stared at him for a long time.

"John, I left the window open."

John frowned at him, confused. "What?"

"I left the window open. She climbed up to try to get in the window that I'd left open, and she fell."

Now John stared. "You think this is your fault?"

"It is my fault."

"You think it's your fault, so you're trying to make up for it by being perfect now."

"It is my fault. And I can't turn back time, so I have to fix it this way. It's a small thing for me to do in comparison to what she lost, and lots of the time it's fun, but yes. I don't lose patience because when I feel it slipping, I remember that I left the window, so I just have to deal with it."

"Much as it's tempting to allow you to think so, it isn't your fault."

"It is my fault; I left the window open. Before that I encouraged her to push herself, particularly physically, and I encouraged her to climb. I should have predicted that she'd try to climb in sooner or later, but I didn't, or I didn't run a good enough risk assessment in my head, or I just plain forgot, but I left the window open, so it was my fault."

"Maybe I left last that day."

"You didn't. I did. I remember."

"Sherlock… just… no. This isn't your fault."

"John…"

"No, I'm not saying that to make you feel better. It wasn't your fault. That's like saying that it's my fault because I hadn't checked that the railing was strong enough to take the weight of a ten year old girl…"

"Checking the railing isn't your job. Shutting the window is the job of whoever leaves last and I didn't do it."

"Well it's the fault of the sandwich shop for not cleaning the awning so it wasn't slippery then."

"No, they couldn't predict that she'd climb it."

"Neither could you."

"Yes I could; I know Scarlet, I should have known."

John covered his eyes with his hands for a moment. "Sherlock, I can't believe that you've spent the last year thinking that Scarlet's brain damage was your fault. I just… Shit, Sherlock, I can't believe you've been dealing with that and didn't tell me."

"I couldn't. You seemed so upset about it all. I didn't want you to hate me."

John moved his hands so he could give Sherlock a look. "So how's not telling me working out for you?"

Sherlock just shook his head and waved this off.

"OK, Sherlock. Just… it doesn't make me feel any less inadequate, knowing that you felt that about yourself and you didn't get to self-loathing, but instead did the absolute best thing you could do."

"Oh, that was Mycroft."

"Mycroft?"

"He told me it wasn't the time for recrimination and self-pity."

"He could have told me that."

"I think he thought you knew. He likes to continue to lecture me about such things though."

"So, were you just waiting around for the time for recriminations and self-pity to start?"

"Well, when I thought about it, neither of them seemed particularly helpful."

"You must have found me delightful when I spent a year wallowing in both."

"John…"

"No, I did. I have. I do."

"I did find it… frustrating, that you were allowed to, and I wasn't."

"So I was frustrated that you were a perfect parent and I wasn't, and you were frustrated that you had to be a perfect parent and I didn't have to be."

"That appears to be a good summary."

"God, we are actually ridiculous." Covering his mouth to hide his smile.

Sherlock grinned and looked at the floor. "Yes, we are a bit." He sighed. "So what happens now?"

"I want to keep trying. I want to work at this. Now I have slightly more insight into what's going on with both of us, I want to see if we can't change it slightly."

Sherlock slowly nodded. "OK. That seems fair. But I think that we need to do something that goes slightly beyond just how we are around Scarlet."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we have a relationship too, and I think some of what's caused us to not understand this stuff about each other, is that we don't spend time just with each other any more. We spend time with Scarlet, worrying about Scarlet, watching Scarlet slowly come round after having a fit, and that's about it. One of us has to be with Scarlet every waking moment, and it's been harder since she stopped school. I honestly can't remember the last time we went out, just the two of us. I actually think it was that dinner we had when Scarlet was in the hospital, and we had to skip desert because we needed to get back. The whole time is stress and concern. We need to stop it now. It's not healthy."

"I… I think you're right. But the idea makes me nervous. I just… Look, I know she's just downstairs, but I have one ear open the whole time, waiting for Mrs Hudson to come up and tell us that she's seized again and she needs us."

Sherlock nodded. "I know. I'm telling myself continually that she's more likely to be OK than not, and that she spends far more time not having a seizure than she does having a seizure, and that so far she has a hundred pre cent success rate at coming out of a seizure, and still as soon as I leave the room I expect it to happen."

"OK, well, I feel slightly better knowing that you, the master of controlling his own emotion with facts and figures, has trouble with that."

"Yes. You'd have frankly no hope."

"Thanks. But yes, that's fair."

"But we need to do something about it. We can't keep going on like this. We're sniping at each other constantly and I really hate it. Everything about this is stressful and I think this is making it worse."

"I agree."

"Though I am conscious of the fact that Scarlet was highly emotional a few hours ago, and we've both seen that trigger a seizure before…"

"Do you want to go and check on her?"

"We shouldn't. We should wean ourselves off that."

"Yes, we should. We can't keep doing it when she's twenty."

"No."

They stared at the fireplace for a while. John bit his thumbnail.

"Of course, there's something to be said for starting these things slowly," Sherlock said.

"It wouldn't make that much difference to check on her now, would it."

"No. Let's go."

They went downstairs together and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door.

"Can we see Scarlet?" Sherlock asked her eagerly.

"Oh! She's asleep already. She went to bed hours ago."

Sherlock checked his watch. "How on earth did it get so late?"

"Could we just look at her?" John asked. "I promise we won't wake her."

Mrs Hudson smiled and let them in. Scarlet was sleeping soundly, sprawled across Mrs Hudson's spare double bed.

"She's fine then," John said.

"Yes, she is," Sherlock agreed.

They watched her sleep for a few minutes, and then quietly went back upstairs. Sherlock sat down on the sofa with a frown.

"What's up?" John asked him.

"I have a problem. Before, when I said I wouldn't take Scarlet… I can't leave either."

"What? You're still thinking of leaving? Sherlock, no!"

"No, I was just going to say, that's not an option. I can't leave Scarlet. I can't not see her every day, so unless you're going somewhere, we have to find a way of working things out."

"That's… OK, well actually that's incredibly selfish."

"Sorry?"

"Scarlet's miserable too, Sherlock, she's constantly terrified that we're going to break up. So if we can't find a way of working things out and all of us being happy again, then we have to make the move to separate, so it's not hanging over her."

"But earlier you were begging me to stay!"

"Well yes, idiot, that's because I love you. I'm not going to force you to stay if you're completely miserable, and I'm not going to withhold Scarlet from you if you do want to go. Not all the time, because clearly she and I need to rebuild our relationship, but we'd both see her equally."

Sherlock frowned. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

John blushed. "This year's been really hard. Really hard. But I still love you. I really don't want this to end. I don't want it to continue the way it has been, but I don't want it to end either."

Sherlock sighed and sat down again.

"So do we need a plan, or do we just try and dance around what we think the other needs until things fall apart again?"

John sat next to him. "We need a plan. And we need to plan that plan, but I don't think I can face it tonight." He rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock rested his head against John's.

"No. And arguably, we need to bring Scarlet into the plan."

"Mm. Maybe. You see that's the sort of thing I can't decide over tonight."

"No. I'm hungry. Shit, I left the groceries downstairs. Are you hungry?"

"I'm randy."

Sherlock picked his head up to look at him in surprise.

"Don't worry," John told him, "I'm not expecting anything tonight. I'm just saying. I always get randy after a big fight."

"You've never mentioned before."

"Well no, usually after a big fight I'm either too angry with you and I've walked off somewhere so I can't take advantage of the randiness, or you're angry with me and it's not appropriate for me to say 'oh and now I've completely pissed you off, do you mind if I give you a good rogering.'"

Sherlock rested his head again. "No, I guess not."

"And anyway, it's not so much the fighting, I think it's the crying too. It's a hormonal thing."

"Oh. I don't get randy after crying. Oh, no, wait. I think maybe I do."

"Maybe you've just never cried hard enough before."

"Could be."

They stared at the fireplace some more.

"Sooooo," John said, "I wonder if it would be entirely inappropriate for us to go up and have mad, wild sex tonight, when things are still quite up in the air."

Sherlock gave this some thought. "I've decided that you can choose whatever I've said right now, as long as whatever I've said gets me some sex."

"I am prepared to take responsibility for the following act. It might be wrong, but I am incredibly turned on by you right now."

"Really? I've checked in the mirror, and I look appalling. I'm all puffed up and red."

"Mm, but you're honest, and I've always loved the honest you best of all. I think that an additional part of the problem is that I've missed the honest you for the past year."

"Your hands are warm."

"What?"

"Your hands feel warm when you put them on my back. I've missed you too, this last year. I think physically we haven't been as close and I've wanted to just fall on you for a hug a million times but felt like I couldn't, and most of all, I miss the warmth of your hands on my back."

John stared at him. "I love you," he found himself saying.

"I also like the feel of your dick when it's just hitting that one particular spot…"

"Less romantic there, Sherlock. But hot nonetheless. Enough talking, more fucking. Come on."

He pulled Sherlock to the bedroom.

When they got there, still holding hands, they found that the immediacy was superseded by the need to simply be next to each other, in each other's arms, kissing and breathing each other in. They slowly relearned all the parts of each other that they had once known so well as the slowly stripped each other, standing at the foot of the bed.

John kissed along Sherlock's collarbone, up his neck and to that spot behind his ear that he'd first found years and years before. Sherlock trembled at he gently kissed there. He was holding onto John's sides and he allowed his hands to creep up his back, to the base of his neck and he scratched downwards either side of John's spine, and John shuddered.

They fell onto the bed and in their tiredness they felt the comfort and joy of the duvet and pillows and the work themselves slowly together, legs woven round each other, fingertips stroking and feeling around each others bodies. They kissed and kissed.

Sherlock broke away from John, and nose to nose, looking into his eyes, he said "I want you inside me."

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock nodded slightly. "John, there is absolutely no part of me that you can't possess. All of me, every bit, is yours."

John blinked as he nodded.

He stayed where he was for a moment, just playing, kissing and stroking, then he turned Sherlock onto his back and approached him. He wasn't sure where the lube was, but he was already soaking wet, so he just slowly slid himself inside Sherlock. Sherlock gasped, and gripped his hands.

John didn't ask if he was OK, he just watched his face react to the sensation. He was stunningly beautiful. He reached forward to stroke down Sherlock's skin, watching his body arc as he brushed over his nipples then down, through is hair until he grasped his buttocks and held them steady while he thrust.

Sherlock moaned and John sighed and they moved together over and over. John grabbed the duvet as he came. He panted and waited for a moment, then withdrew just far enough to take Sherlock into his mouth. He held on to Sherlock's sides with his warm hand and sucked licked him. He felt Sherlock's hand tugging lightly on his hair but he didn't move away. He sucked and swallowed as Sherlock spurted into him.

When it was over, he slowly crawled up to Sherlock so that he could nestle in his arms for a while.

"Aren't you going to wash?" he asked after a few moments.

Sherlock kissed him on the forehead. "No. I'm staying here."

* * *

**OK, so possibly not the sort of angry, passionate sex that Verity had in mind, but you do all know how I love a good conversation!**

**And once again I've stayed up hopelessly late, so this will be riddled with typos and I'll be a wreck in the morning.**

**Love to you all,**

**Pip.**


	26. The Next Day

**Once again, thank you for each and every review! It's possible that the 'a touch turbulent' warning might have been a slight understatement, so my apologies for that.**

**This has turned out to be a jam-in-the-sandwich chapter between the last one and the next one, which will be Couples Counselling, requested by Staceuo.**

**I had intended the counselling to be here, but this one meandered hopelessly. I think it still has some nice parts and it moves the plot along (plot? This thing has a plot? Who knew!), but I don't want the session to be a 'tacked on the end' thing and I'm beginning to need to refocus before I get going with it.**

**So have this as a stop-gap.**

**

* * *

**_The following morning._

Sherlock woke early with a pounding headache and dry, sore eyes. He looked over at John, sleeping naked next to him, and the memory of everything that had happened the day before flooded back into him.

He wiped his hand over his face and thought. He was glad he hadn't simply walked out and woken up alone, somewhere else, with the realisation that it was all over. He was glad he was still here, in this bed and that there was still this small slither of hope. But he was aware that now he had had some sleep and the immediate emotional wake from the fight had passed, he was left feeling raw, afraid, and very upset.

He was glad that they'd had sex last night. He'd enjoyed being close to John. He briefly felt the way he had when he and John were first together. He had been confused before, but afterwards, he was relatively certain that he still loved John.

But the words that John had said kept coming back to haunt him. He'd felt defenceless, standing there while John screamed at him.

…_you'd taken everything else away from me…_

He felt mildly nauseous remembering. It hadn't felt as though he'd taken from John over the past nine years. It had felt as though they decided things together. The idea that John had been unfulfilled was abhorrent to him. The idea that he hadn't gained anything from being with Sherlock left him feeling hollow and lost.

… _I've always come second place to you…_

He wondered how guilty he was of putting John's needs second. He knew he did that to everyone else, but he thought he'd been more caring with John. He wondered if he was so hopelessly inept at putting someone before himself that it had spilled out and infected his life with John. He certainly loved John more than he loved anyone else. He loved him vastly more than he loved himself.

He liked him better than he liked himself too. Well, usually anyway. John of the last year hadn't been particularly likable. But from what John had said, his issues with Sherlock had been going on long before that. Had he actually taken everything away from him?

He had thought that John had liked their life. The idea that he might have been mistaken about this felt icy down his back.

And of course the line that was so hurtful he desperately wanted to delete it and never hear it again, but it kept coming back over and over.

…_She's not your daughter!_

He took a deep breath and shuddered. He knew that John had tried desperately to take it back, when he was no longer angry and had just desperately wanted him stay. But there it was. On some level, he actually thought that. On some level, he thought that he had a greater claim on Scarlet than Sherlock did. Perhaps he did. Sherlock felt tears coming again and tried, unsuccessfully, to shake them off. His head throbbed.

In a million years he would never have thought John felt that way. Though John had tried to assure him he didn't really, and insisted those words had just been said in the heat of the argument, Sherlock found that for the first time ever, he was having difficulty believing John.

He was glad they had talked. He could understand now how John had become so stressed and angry. He hadn't really thought about what John had lost because of the accident. He was glad that he'd finally told John about the window, even if John hadn't quite understood the magnitude of his error.

But nonetheless, he felt uncomfortable being here. As if he was balanced on a tower of bricks and he knew it was bound to topple down at any moment.

John stirred, opened his eyes, and looked at him.

"Good morning."

Sherlock forced a smile. "Good morning."

John saw through him instantly. "What's wrong? Sherlock, have you been crying again?"

"No," Sherlock lied, but the evidence was clear, and he couldn't shake the feeling of sadness now. He was frustrated with himself. He turned his head to stare at the ceiling for a moment. He wasn't sure what to say, so he sat up and wiped his eyes. "Should we go and get some breakfast? We need to get Scarlet back too."

"No, wait a minute Sherlock." He held on to Sherlock's wrist. "It's… you can't stay upset all day."

Sherlock shook his head again. "Sorry." He wiped his eyes. "I'll stop in a minute. It'll pass."

"No, that's not what I meant. I don't mean 'so stop' I mean, 'so let's solve the problem.'"

Sherlock looked at John for a moment. He looked anxious and concerned.

"John, I love you. But I'm… hurt. I don't want to be, I wish I wasn't, but I find I am. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."

John nodded. "Sherlock, I don't think I can say sorry enough. I wish I could go back and unsay those things. I didn't mean them."

"I know. But I can't un-hear them. I'm sorry too, but it's going to take a while."

John nodded. "That's fair."

Sherlock smiled at him. "On the bright side, I have a new go-to image next time I need to cry for a case."

John smiled, but his heart clearly wasn't in it.

"Right," Sherlock said, "I'm going to shower as I feel disgusting, then I'm going to drink seven pints of tea."

"Fair enough. Oh, shit, I've just remembered we've got an appointment to go and see those schools today."

Sherlock swore quietly.

"Do you want me to call and postpone?" John asked him.

"No. We have to get school sorted. Let's get ready and go."

He went to shower and get dressed. When he got downstairs, John had made tea and toast for him.

"Is Scarlet not up?" Sherlock asked.

"No. I thought you could go and get her. I think she'll be glad to see you. I'll go and shower."

Scarlet was indeed delighted to see him. She was busy eating toast but her face lit up when Sherlock knocked and walked into the flat and she got up instantly and ran to hug him. Scout dashed over too and leapt up on him, and Mrs Hudson stood there smiling and wringing her hands. Sherlock only had eyes for Scarlet though and he bent over her to return her hug.

"You're still here!" Scarlet said to him.

"Yes, of course I am."

They stayed together longer than was strictly necessary. Sherlock felt her warmth and energy against him and realised that he was desperate to make things work with John. He was glad all over again that he was here, now, and not alone in some anonymous hotel room.

"Come on," he told her, pulling away, "we're going to see a school so you need to get ready."

She pulled a face.

"You have to go to school, Scarlet."

"They're all rubbish."

"No, the ones that we've seen haven't been suitable, but you haven't seen all the available schools in London yet. One of these might be perfect."

"Yeah, right."

"It might be worth reminding you that you're opinion of a school's suitability is secondary to John's and mine. Come on now, finish your breakfast and come and get ready."

"I'm finished. I'll come now."

She followed Sherlock out of the flat. Scout instantly ran to the front door, putting her paws up against it, somewhat desperately.

Sherlock groaned. "Can't you at least wait until I've drunk some tea?"

"I'll take her."

Sherlock looked down at her. "Are you sure?"

"I can walk to the… um… park and back! I'm fine!"

Sherlock nodded. "OK. Not a long walk though; we need to get a move on."

She darted up the stairs and down again past him with Scout's lead. "I'll leave the… it on the… er… latch."

"Fine. Just don't try to climb in again."

She blew a raspberry at him.

His phone was ringing on the kitchen table when he got back.

"Please let me just drink my tea!" he told it. He did manage several mouthfuls, and diverted Mycroft's call several times, but he rang back persistently each time and eventually Sherlock admitted defeat and picked up.

"What could you possibly want, Mycroft!"

"Sherlock, can you talk?"

"Yes, since I was about ten months old, thank you. What do you want?"

"I mean, are you free to talk?"

"What? Yes, what the hell are you…"

"Sherlock, where are you? And are you all right?"

"I'm at home and of course I am! Why are you being this peculiar at this god-awful time in the morning before I've managed to have any tea? I really need this tea, Mycroft."

"Sherlock… I just want to know you're fine. Are you fine?"

Sherlock allowed some slow and fuzzy connections to take place in his brain.

"Mycroft, did Mrs Hudson call you?"

"No, Inspector Lestrade did."

"Why?" A few more connections happened. "He was here, wasn't he? Mrs Hudson called him. Why the hell did she do that?"

"She's seventy-six, Sherlock, and she was in charge of a frightened eleven-year-old while there were two men, both of whom have a propensity for violence, rowing in a room where there was a handgun. It was absolutely the right thing for her to do."

"I wouldn't have killed him."

"No, I don't think any of us were worried about that."

"Wait! I'm just as capable of killing someone as he is!"

"For God's sake, Sherlock, this isn't a contest. I just want to know that you're fine."

"I'm… mostly fine. I'm certainly physically fine, or would be if I could just have my sodding breakfast."

"Good, well that's something. Sherlock, I want you to know that you are welcome to stay in my spare room for a while, should you need to."

Sherlock was so surprised by this he simply stared blankly across the room for a while, blinking.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you still there?"

"What? Yes, I was just thinking, if the alternative is coming to live with you, then I'd better bloody well make things work with John."

"Good. Then I suppose it was worth the phone call. I won't keep you; I know you have appointments with schools today. Enjoy your breakfast, Sherlock."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"A favour."

"What?"

Sherlock glanced towards the door. He could hear John coming out of the bathroom and heading towards the bedroom. He spoke quietly.

"Mycroft, I need the number of a counsellor. Someone who works with couples. We're both relatively fucked up to begin with so I suspect we'll need someone pretty good. Very good."

"Consider it done."

"Cost isn't a problem."

"Naturally."

"Text me the number?"

"Give me a couple of hours."

"Thank you."

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

Sherlock hung up and dropped the phone on the coffee table. He downed his cold tea, his heart racing as if he'd asked for something forbidden and unseemly. He smiled at John as he came in though.

"Do you want some tea? I need at least one cup that I can drink while it's hot."

"Please. Where's Scarlet?"

"She's taken Scout out." He frowned suddenly. "Is that OK?"

"Of course it's OK. Sherlock, we can't be second guessing ourselves and each other all the time."

"No."

"I was thinking in the shower… I was thinking again about counselling. I know you'd rather not but…"

"It's fine. I've asked Mycroft."

"Oh God no, Sherlock, that's a terrible idea!"

Sherlock was shocked and felt horribly guilty. "I'm sorry! It's just…"

"No, wait a minute, you meant you've asked him to find someone."

"Yes, but I can call and tell him not to!"

"No that's fine. It's just for one truly horrible moment I thought you'd asked him to counsel us."

Sherlock burst out laughing. "Oh now there's an image!"

John giggled too. "Could you imagine it!"

"'Come on now boys; pull your socks up! Stiffen those upper lips!'" Sherlock laughed again. "Oh, now that's going to keep me going all morning! Did you say you were making tea?"

"No, but I assumed that I'd have to."

Scarlet came in a minute later to find them chatting freely and drinking tea at the kitchen table. She felt properly calm for the first time in months.

oOo

School number one was a private, girls-only school a tube ride away. As Scarlet looked into the classrooms, twenty well behaved buy curious girls turned to furtively look at her. She wondered if she'd be deafened by the silence during the school day. John seemed impressed though. He asked the head-teacher about flexibility with their curriculum, about bullying and about extra-curricula activities and he seemed very happy with all of the answers.

Mrs Jones showed them into a large auditorium that had been built on site. The students used it to stage their own productions and it was also rented out to theatre groups so the students had priority tickets to various plays.

"I thought about Scarlet's speech problem. I thought that perhaps working on drama might be beneficial to her. We have two excellent Speech and Drama teachers who both have ties to the theatre. They've both said that they'd love to meet you, Scarlet."

Scarlet smiled and nodded politely.

John was quite excited when they left, chatting happily as they sat down to eat in a near-by café.

"You know, I thought all private schools were like that awful one we saw on Monday where the only think they care about is churning out kids into Oxford and Cambridge whatever the cost. But that one was really nice! What did you think Scarlet? Sherlock, have you got the prospectus?"

"No boys," Scarlet said as Sherlock handed a smart folder with the schools logo on it to John.

"Wow – look at the alumni list, Scarlet!"

"No boys."

"You don't need boys, Scarlet, you need an education," Sherlock pointed out.

She shrugged. "I don't want to do Drama."

"Well you wouldn't have to."

"It might help though," John said.

"It wouldn't." She looked depressed.

"Wow!" John breathed out, reading something and looking at Sherlock. "Have you seen how much that place costs?"

"Is there something else you'd rather spend the money on?"

"No, obviously not but… It's not even just term fees! The uniform costs a packet, you have to provide all the equipment… wait a second, it says here that the drama society is extra-curricula so you have to pay for that too!"

"I don't want to do Drama," Scarlet said again.

"Not just Drama, Scarlet, Art and Music are extra-curricula too. Well, you can take them as subjects, but they 'strongly recommend' you join the relevant clubs too."

"I'd want to do them." She sighed. "Let's not bother with there then."

"No, Scarlet," Sherlock said. "If that's the best place for you, then that's where you should go. We haven't got anything else to spend the money on."

"I'd quite like a… a… pony."

"No."

"Might help with the… speech stuff."

"No. Eat your chips," he said, smiling and stealing one from her plate.

They finished their food and headed to the next school.

"I don't want you to rule out the girl's school, Scarlet," John told her. "This one isn't exactly anyone's first choice. It's why they have a place for you mid-term. It looks frankly awful on paper, but we'll see."

"I've got to go somewhere." She sighed.

The school was a sprawling comprehensive with various buildings following no cohesive design plan built over the last 5 decades. There was a much old administration building where they met Mr Peterson, the head-teacher. He gave them a quick tour. The classrooms were fairly full. There was a certain amount of messing about going on which usually quietened under Mr Peterson's eye.

John got hit on the ear by a paper ball lobbed by a youngish boy who hadn't noticed them come into the science room.

The child blushed as his classmates giggled.

"Stuart Andrews, you will be the death of me!" Mr Peterson told him.

"Very sorry, Mr Peterson!"

"Not to me, Stuart."

He turned to John blushing further. "Very, very sorry, sir."

Sherlock had retrieved the paper ball and unfurled it. "'Kevin think's Melissa is well hot.' You have a misplaced apostrophe there." He handed it back over and turned around to a group of giggling girls. "Well done, Melissa. I'm sure Kevin is an ideal partner for you!" There was further giggling.

Mr Peterson lead them back out. "Sorry about that. It's just kid's stuff though. Now, Scarlet, what are your favourite subjects."

"Art and… and… and…" Mr Peterson waited patiently. "Sorry, it's worse… nervous. Art and… Music… sir."

"I'll show you the art's block. Unfortunately Music still happens in the porta-cabins over there. That building site there," he pointed at a fenced off area, "was where the new music and drama block was going to go before the funding was pulled. Bastard Tories." He remembered himself and blushed. "Sorry, I mean…"

"It's quite all right," John told him.

The art room he took them into was big and bright. There were a number of slanted light-tables, easels and regular long and wide art-benches. The students from a year-nine class were working everywhere. Scarlet looked around and caught the eye of a girl with bubble-gum pink hair, painting at an easel. The girl winked at her and Scarlet's eyebrows shot up.

"Mr Halligan, this is Scarlet Watson who might be joining us. Do you mind if she looks around while I talk to her parents?"

"Of course, come on in Scarlet."

Scarlet was alarmed at the idea of being left, but had no option but to go and join them.

"Feel free to have a look and see what people are doing. Be careful of the kiln though; it can be a bit temperamental if it's knocked. You're welcome to join in if you can find a space."

Scarlet nodded and wandered around. Most of what was happening was the usual sorts of things you'd expect from children of thirteen, and Scarlet observed rather than critiqued. She lingered at Pink-hair's easel though. Pink-hair moved aside a bit so she could see.

"What do you think? Something's not right. I'm thinking more colour."

"Colour's fine. It's the… the…the balance. You need more… more… stuff… this side."

Pink hair looked back at it. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"Or… or… or… make it into a… um… feature. So it… builds going… along that… that way. What's it for? Coursework?"

"No, competition. The school is mental about art competitions, there's like one a term. This one is to design a mural for the front wall. Winner gets to have their design used."

"Cool."

"Where those two guys your dads?"

"Yes."

"Cool. I've only got a mum and she's a complete harpy."

"Harpies can be cool."

"Yeah. This one isn't though."

"I guess not for a… a Mum."

"Do you have two Mum's too?"

"No. One."

"What's she like? Doesn't she mind that your Dad's gay?"

"No. She's dead mostly. Well… completely."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Yeah."

John and Sherlock appeared in the doorway and Scarlet headed towards them.

"Hey, thanks for your help!" Pink-hair called after her.

"It's fine!" she called back.

They found a cab to drive them home.

"Well, what do you think, Scarlet?" John asked her.

"It's not up to me."

"It is a bit," John told her. "We'll have a think about it for a bit but we've got to sort something soon. I don't want you to worry about the money though. Sherlock's right, if you think you'd do well at the first one, that's where you should go."

"Mm."

"What are you thinking?" Sherlock asked her.

"Can I dye my… my hair pink?"

"No."

"Blue?"

"No."

"Red?"

"No."

"Slightly… slightly Auburn?"

"No, leave your hair alone."

oOo

Mycroft was sat in the lounge when they got back.

"Marvellous; you're home. I've made an appointment for you at three. The name and address are here." He held out a slip of paper. "I'll stay with Scarlet until you're back."

"What part of 'text me the number' did you not understand, Mycroft?" Sherlock snatched the paper from him.

"What's this?" John asked. "Do you mean a counselling appointment?"

"My apologies; my source told me that the sooner you saw someone, the better."

"Your source…?"

"Well we're hardly at crisis point!" John said.

Sherlock gave him a look.

"Oh," John said softly, blinking quickly. "Well, I'd better go and get ready then." He dashed upstairs.

"He doesn't need to dress up," Mycroft pointed out.

"No. I expect he needed to leave the room though."

"Ah. Of course. My apologies if I've made the situation more difficult."

"I'm not sure you could." He turned around. "Scarlet, will you be OK with Mycroft for an hour or two?"

"Yes. Where are you going?"

Sherlock hesitated. He had a feeling John would want to hide this from his daughter. _Their daughter,_ Sherlock reminded himself. "We're going to see someone who might be able to help us with some things. With the things we're not getting along over."

"A… um… marriage counsellor."

"Yes."

"Good. You need one."

Sherlock gave her a wry smile. "Mycroft, you'll call us if she needs anything won't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"I mean, don't sit there thinking you can handle things and it's better we have the time. If she needs anything, call us."

"Yes. I will."

"I really mean it."

"I know. But I think you really need this too."

"But… OK, I appreciate that, but still; call us."

"OK. I will. We'll be fine."

"But if you're not…"

"Sherlock, go and find a cab."

He in fact went upstairs where he found John sat on the bed, looking slightly dejected.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"Yes." John nodded. "I just… no, it's the right thing to do. It just feels a bit… real."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm beginning to regret starting it. But at the same time, we can't simply go on as we have been."

"Today was nice though."

"Yes. But I was second guessing everything that I said."

John looked at him. "I'm sorry."

"I know. But this isn't about that. I just want things to be right again. I'm happy to go on my own if you'd rather."

John looked up sharply. "No. Absolutely not. Well, obviously if you want to have counselling on your own too, we should do that, but we're in this together and it isn't up to just one of us to fix things. Will Mycroft be OK with Scarlet?"

"He's assured me he'll call if they need anything. I don't trust him though."

John smiled. "Well, he's got Mrs Hudson here too. Let's go."


	27. Counselling

**Right, I have been spectacularly rubbish at the shout outs of late, so here goes.**

**_MadBadandDangerous_ – Pony! _Verity_ – Look no sex! _KittehGotClaws_ – Grips will be got. _M_ – I'm afraid there will be no lessons taught, but Sherlock **_**will**_** get a break. _CyberButterfly_ – Hair! Worry not, Scarlet will find a way of rebelling. _Mattsloved1_ – Many apologies. They will get old… one day. _Katkin_ – Just because, and I hope you're feeling better now. _Staceou_ – I've finally got round to the counselling.**

**But really, thank you to all reviewers! It really keeps me going. Anyone lurking out there who wants to give me a wave or so, it's very much appreciated.**

**Obvious disclaimer – I am not a couples or any other sort of counsellor. I have seen a therapist, but not for couples work. I haven't looked up who wrote the course that Relate use or anything else. I am **_**still**_** basically making this all up.**

**

* * *

**_That afternoon._

They were quiet in the cab, until they got stopped at some road-works and suddenly the silence became slightly uncomfortable.

"So, what did you think about the schools then?" John asked Sherlock.

"Hm? Oh, the schools. I thought they were both fine. What did you think?"

"I thought they were both fine too. Did you have a preference?"

Sherlock took some time formulating his answer. "I think they both had some good strengths. And I think they both had some weaknesses. Which was your preference?"

"No, I asked first. I'd like to hear your view without feeling like it needed to reflect my view."

Sherlock sighed. "I liked the way she came alive in the second one. She joined in. She talked to people. Everything about it screams 'no' but I liked it. I like the head, I think he's dynamic and seems to be interested in researching current teaching and learning techniques and isn't afraid to try new things to keep the children interested. The children seemed to respond well to him too. Some of the other teachers seemed a touch old fashioned and dry, but he was good. I know it's technically a bad school, but I wonder if it's turning around and it's just stuck with it's reputation."

"What about the first one?"

"Well, we know that at the first one she wouldn't get drowned out."

"They had excellent facilities."

"Yes they did. Which did you like? You preferred the first, didn't you?"

"I did. I know I'm probably distracted by the clean buildings and the shiny trophies in the entrance, but it really seemed like a very good school. All the students seemed to do well there, not just the ones who would do well wherever they went."

"Yes. Logically it should be better…"

"But?"

"But I didn't like the head."

"Why not?"

"She was fine. But the difference between the two was this; Mrs Jones thought a bit about Scarlet in advance, did no discernible research, decided on a plan of action that might well help, then told Scarlet about it, with the expectation that it would happen. Every other question and comment was directed at us. Mr Peterson talked to her and waited for her to answer, he was interested in what she was like completely separately from him being concerned about her difficulties. I can't put it any more succinctly than that. I don't know why it matters, but it felt as though it did."

John nodded. "Yes, you're right. It does matter. He can't be in every classroom though."

"True. But we've seen what happens when there's an ineffective Head."

They started moving again and they lapsed into silence once more.

They reached the address in Pimlico that they were looking for, got out of the cab and John handed money across. Sherlock stared up at the anonymous looking town house. The only indication of its function was a smart brass plaque on the wall by the door.

John came over to find him.

"Dr. James Morrison. An actual psychiatrist, and James Morrison at that. I'm not sure we need an actual psychiatrist."

"No. Maybe not. Let's just go."

"No, hang on a second, Sherlock. I'm not suggesting we don't see him. It just seems overkill."

"I told Mycroft to find someone good."

"Well Morrison is very good. He's written the books that the Relate Counsellors read. I think he co-wrote some of the training courses for their counsellors too."

"Well that will by why Mycroft suggested him. He's believes in going to the source."

"We'd better get on with it." John reached out and rang the buzzer.

"No, wait! I just said maybe not!"

"Well you don't have to come in. But we're here now and I want this sorted."

A crackly voice sounded through the intercom and they were buzzed in. Sherlock followed John inside, and then stood there, fretting. John took his hand.

"Come on. We'll be OK, Sherlock. It's not pleasant, but it's necessary."

Sherlock nodded and followed him. They found a reception desk on one of the rooms and were waved through to a waiting room. Almost immediately Dr Morrison appeared and they stood again and followed him into a neat little room with a coffee table and four chairs around it.

"I booked one of the small rooms for us, is this OK? Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? No? Please have a seat."

He closed the door behind him and came to sit down with them.

"Now, can I ask what brings you here today?"

John and Sherlock were both startled.

"Erm…" John started.

"Well, because… because…" Sherlock looked at John for an answer.

"It seemed like… a good idea."

Dr Morrison nodded. "Well yes, I think that most couples could benefit from a little counselling at one point or another, but I specifically meant, what brings you here, today, rather than at any other time."

"Mycroft did it." Sherlock answered.

"No," John said. "That's not what he means. Well, because we had a row, I guess."

"Was this your first row?"

"Oh no," Sherlock replied. "We row all the time. We're old masters at rowing."

"Well not _all_ the time," John protested. "We have some good times too. We have lots of fun as well."

"Sometimes the rows _are _fun."

"Most of the time the rows are fun," John agreed. "But not recently."

Sherlock looked anxiously at Dr. Morrison. "Is this helping at all?"

Dr Morrison smiled. "I think that the order of the day isn't so much to be helpful to _me._ But yes, I think I understand. You two confront each other when necessary, disagree with each other when necessary, and push your point at each other when necessary. This is quite ordinary and as long as one party or the other doesn't feel put down, over-ridden, or that there's unreasonable aggression, this is a part of living together. Do either of you feel put down or that there's unreasonable aggression?"

"No," Sherlock replied quickly. "We're fine."

"I did try to hit him a couple of weeks back," John said. "I'm sorry. I know that it was unreasonable aggression, I just… I couldn't stop myself."

"I didn't think so," Sherlock replied. "I'd never have let you make contact."

"I could have got past you if I'd have been really trying."

"You reckon?"

"OK, gentlemen," Dr Morrison cut in, "this isn't about a show of strength. So would you both agree that it was a bad row with the threat of violence?" They both nodded. "And was this the row that made you feel counselling was in order?"

"Oh no, we had a much worse one yesterday," Sherlock told him.

"Was there further violence?"

"No," Sherlock said.

"Yes," John said. "Yes there was. I pushed our daughter. I threatened to hit her. It was…" He bit his lip and turned his face away.

"There was no further violence directed at me," Sherlock clarified.

"So what made this row different for you?"

Sherlock looked at John who was still looking away, clearly trying not to cry. Sherlock looked at the ground for inspiration.

"Look, John, Sherlock… do you mind if I call you John and Sherlock? Well, this session isn't about accusing each other or making me make a judgement. In fact none of our sessions are going to be about that. I just want to know what has been going on so that we can start looking to solving any problems and making some changes. Look, you're clearly love each other, and you're clearly protective of each other; I can tell from the way you've been holding hands since you've sat down." They both looked down and sure enough, they were hand in hand. They let go instantly.

"No, it's fine!" Dr Morrison told them. "I'm just suggesting that you need to start saying what you actually feel so that we can work it out and move past it. What do you think? Shall we try again? Why was yesterday's row different?"

Sherlock spoke heavily. "Because it hurt."

"Because I was completely out of control. I was unkind. I was horrible."

"I felt defenceless. I've never felt defenceless before. And now I feel… confused. The air hasn't cleared the way it usually does."

"OK, good. Are you sure I can't get either of you a drink?"

"I think I'm going to need hankies," John admitted.

Sherlock smiled and handed a travel-packet across to him.

"I'd like to get some background if I may." Dr Morrison told them. "How long have you known each other?"

"Sixteen years," Sherlock answered.

"And how long have you been together?"

"Nine years. We've been married seven."

"So what was happening in the first seven years? What was your relationship to each other then."

Sherlock looked at John to answer.

"We were friends."

"Just friends?" Dr. Morrison asked.

"Just friends."

"I was attracted to him," Sherlock said.

"But you didn't reciprocate at the time?" Dr. Morrison asked John.

"I didn't _notice_ at the time." John replied.

"I wasn't particularly forward."

"Why not?"

Sherlock shrugged. "He kept getting girlfriends. He… I assumed he wasn't interested. I wanted him, but I didn't want to tell him."

"Because…"

Sherlock blushed. "I just didn't."

Dr. Morrison quietly looked at him.

"There's no point doing that," John told him. "He won't give in and suddenly give you the answer if he doesn't want to. You could end up staring at him for months."

Dr. Morrison smiled. "Fair enough. Sherlock, it would be extremely helpful to have as good a picture as we can. I'm not asking you to upset or humiliate you, but I don't want to guess either."

Sherlock sighed. "Because I didn't want to lose the friendship. I didn't want for him to reject me and to have it colouring our entire relationship, or for him to be thinking every word or action had an ulterior motive. I preferred to have him as a friend than lose him entirely."

"And you felt that you would certainly lose his friendship?"

"Yes! No! No, John's not like that! But in the past… Look, Dr. Morrison, I'm not a particularly likable person. I don't have a vast amount of friends and for some reason, he was there. He stayed. It genuinely wasn't worth the risk. I know that it sounds as though I didn't trust him to be a proper friend, but that's not the case."

"Are you sure?"

"No! Look, perhaps we should be clear at the start that emotions aren't my strong point. I don't know what I was thinking or feeling but it seemed the risk was too great. Coupled with the fact that relationships are messy, difficult things that require energy and hard work. I can't usually be bothered with such things. I don't generally want to make the investment."

"But you did for John?"

"Not at first, I was attracted but didn't want to do anything with it, but yes, later I did."

"OK then. So what changed nine years ago?"

"He… needed me."

"I've always needed you," John said quietly, then blushed.

"So you feel that the basis for your relationship is that he needed you," Dr Morrison asked Sherlock. "It was entirely altruistic?"

"No! No, it's not. It's just…" Sherlock looked over at John who was patiently waiting for him to answer. "It's just that I didn't know how much I needed him until I was with him. Because I'm an idiot. I had thought I was fine before."

"But you weren't?"

"I was 'fine' but nothing more. Every aspect of my life is a million times better with John in it."

Dr. Morrison turned to John. "So what about your background? From what Sherlock says, this is your first gay relationship…"

"Is that relevant?" Sherlock asked.

"We won't know what's relevant until we have all the data."

"That's what I always say!"

"Then you'll understand the importance of answering my questions."

Sherlock blushed. "Sorry."

"So, John…"

"OK, well, I had girlfriends. Then I got married, then we had a baby, then she died. My wife died. Not my daughter."

"So Scarlet's your daughter?"

"She's _our_ daughter," John said quickly.

"She's John's genetic daughter, she's my adoptive daughter." He glanced at John who was frowning at the floor. "Well she is."

"She's _our_ daughter," John said again.

"You don't think she is?" Dr Morrison asked Sherlock.

"I told him she wasn't," John answered. "In the heat of a row, I said that and now I'm afraid that we're never, ever going to get past it."

"It hurt!" Sherlock said. "Nothing he's said to me before has ever hurt me like that. It's… strange."

"Was this the row that you had yesterday?"

"Yes."

"What was the row about?"

Sherlock was surprised. "You know, I can't actually remember how it started."

"You weren't there," John reminded him. "I was rowing with Scarlet, then you came in and I started rowing with you about Scarlet. It was mostly about me, being a complete dick."

"OK then," Dr Morrison said. "So you were there first, John. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Erm, yeah. Scarlet and I were talking about a school we'd been to see. She was trying to tell me something and I just didn't understand it. She was talking about not going there for some reason and I just couldn't focus."

"Did you guess?" Sherlock asked him.

"Yes. Yes I know I shouldn't but I ran out of patience. Then the whole thing got heated and stressed, then she stopped being able to talk at all, and when I got to telling her to calm down she was already at the 'don't tell me what to do' part of the argument. She was so angry."

"I take it Scarlet has speech problems?"

"Yeah. She has aphasia. It's causing problems. Well, it causes me problems."

"Continue with the row, what happened then, you say you threatened to hit her?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I did. She was really upset. I don't think I've ever seen her as upset as that. She was screaming and screaming and I know I was shouting but I couldn't get through. She was trying to climb up me, like she was possessed or something. She was hitting and scratching and I just couldn't get through to her. I was going to hit her. I've never wanted to ever before but God I wanted to then. Then I saw Sherlock and I knew I couldn't, but I pushed her away and she fell. God it was awful. It was the most awful thing I've ever done."

Sherlock stayed silent.

Dr. Morrison nodded at John. "We can come back to the fine details, but lets move along from them now. You pushed Scarlet and she fell. What do you remember happening then?"

"Sherlock picked her up and sent her downstairs… that's where our landlady lives, she watches Scarlet sometimes. Then I was angry with Sherlock for getting in the way and taking over again. I called him some names…"

"No you didn't, there were no names. Oh, apart from 'Sherlock fucking Holmes' which doesn't really count."

"Yes, thank you, Sherlock, with your photographic memory." John said.

"It's technically not a photographic memory, it's more like… you know what, this probably isn't the time."

John smiled at him. "It's fine, Sherlock."

'Coming back to the row," Dr Morrison cut in. "This was when you said that Scarlet wasn't his daughter."

"Yes, yes it was. Look, Sherlock I don't know how many times I can apologise and have you still not believe that I'm sorry! Besides which, you know she's yours. If we were to divorce, any family court would view that adoption certificate as every bit as important as the fact that she shares my genes!"

"It wasn't just that though! You told me I'd taken everything from you. You told me I gave nothing back. It hurt!"

"It was meant to! We were rowing! It doesn't mean I mean those things! You've said some fairly unkind things about me in arguments too, Sherlock! You've said some impressively thoughtless things even when we weren't rowing, so why are you persecuting me over these things?"

"Because when I say things to you, you _know_ I don't mean it!"

"But I keep telling you I didn't mean those things either!"

"But I don't believe you."

"Well that's your problem because I didn't mean them!"

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure you don't think that way on any level?"

Sherlock looked straight at him. John was looking cross and defensive again, but slowly his face changed and he looked ashamed.

"Well there you are then," Sherlock said quietly.

"No, Sherlock. It's not that! I don't think those things about you! I don't! The reason I paused was because… Look, you're her Dad, that's absolutely clear. And you haven't taken things from me… certainly I've got back more than I feel I've given! It's just that… there's something. I feel like something's missing from me right now. I don't know what it is, but I feel completely lost and terrified all the time. You haven't taken anything, I know that, but, I worry, because we don't talk any more and I wonder if that's it."

"How long have you felt this way?" Dr Morrison asked.

John shrugged. "I don't know."

"But not from the beginning?"

"God no! No! I can remember… I can remember on our wedding day feeling so, so happy! I remember wanting and loving him and just being so happy that he'd share his life with me! I remember the day he adopted Scarlet and it felt so right because he absolutely is her father! I don't think I'd ever felt as whole as I did on that day. Maybe only the day when Scarlet was born. And the bits in between too, everything's always felt shared, all of it."

"So what's changed?"

John sighed. "Scarlet's changed. She's ill now. I don't want to blame that, but it can't be irrelevant. She… needs Sherlock more than she needs me, and I know I shouldn't be jealous of that, but I am."

"She needs you too, John! She does but you're not there!"

"OK, we'll come back to this, but let's slow down." Dr Morrison said. "Could one of you tell me about her illness?"

John and Sherlock stared at the coffee table.

"OK, Sherlock, why don't you tell us about it?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to."

"John?"

"She fell. She had a bad fall from about ten feet onto paving slabs. She was brain damaged. She now has aphasia, epilepsy, and she gets migraines. It's better than it could have been, and I want to see the positives, but really, it's horrible. It seems to effect everything, all day, every day it's… it's relentless. I hate it."

"I hate it too. And it's my fault."

"It isn't your fault!"

Sherlock exploded. "It is my fault! It is! I know you don't get it, but it is!" he bellowed.

"OK, Sherlock, we'll come back to this in a bit, but settle down for now." Dr. Morrison said calmly. "Let's come back to you for a second, John. How long ago was the fall?"

"Just over a year ago."

"And has her recovery been slower than you'd expected, or is it about right."

"I don't know. About right I'd guess. She still gets frustrated at times. It was what messed us up yesterday; she was trying to tell me something and I wasn't getting it and I got frustrated and so did she and it all just escalated."

"Does that happen regularly?"

"No. Not often. But I don't have much to do with her any more. Sherlock does it all."

"You know you're welcome to cross the room and join in!" Sherlock blurted out.

"No, it wasn't a criticism! It's just a fact; you're better with her than I am!"

"Because you don't try!"

"I do! I want to! But there's no point because you're there!"

"So we're here again! What do you want me to do? Walk away from her?"

"No! No I don't! I just want to be able to do it too! And I hate that I can't!"

"Gentlemen, let's settle down again shall we. This is obviously important, but there's so much mixed up in this and we need to look at each element or we'll just explode. John, you say you 'want to be able to do it'. What is it you want to do and why do you feel that you can't?"

John took a couple of breaths and wiped his face on his hands while the packet of tissues lay forgotten on the coffee table.

"OK, I think it's this; I want to be able to manage the talking. I want to talk with her more but we both seem to have given up. Especially if Sherlock's there and can translate for us. But to be honest, I wouldn't care if she never uttered another word if I could just cope with being in the same room as her when she's having a seizure. I hoped it would get better, and it partly has, I used to have to literally leave the room if Sherlock was there and now I can at least be close by, but it's a full year and I still can't do it. I still feel immobilised and I still feel as though the world's going to end."

"What do you think is likely to happen during a seizure?"

John stared blankly at him. "I think she's going to die. Every single time."

"Because of Mary," Sherlock said quietly.

"Yes. Because it doesn't matter how many epileptic people I've successfully treated during my lifetime, they've all been washed away because of Mary." He wiped his face again.

"Mary was your wife?" Dr. Morrison asked and John nodded his head. "Can you tell me a bit about when she died?"

"Does he have to?" Sherlock asked.

"Not if he doesn't want to, but it might be helpful."

Sherlock opened the tissues and handed one across. John took it and calmed himself down again. He cleared his throat a few times before he started.

"Mary was perfectly healthy. Well, that we knew about anyhow. She'd just gone through a normal, healthy pregnancy and a natural childbirth. Scarlet was eight weeks old, so she'd recovered physically. Everything was perfectly ordinary, then one night I woke up and she was having a seizure in the bed next to me. I'm a doctor and I responded as a doctor and did the right things, but it didn't stop. I called an ambulance, and watched as they did the right things. I remember making a joke with one of the paramedics. I just assumed it would stop. Even when she was at the hospital, I thought it would be OK. It was like I didn't even notice that things were getting out of control. I was in the room with her when they were treating her. I could see it all unfolding and I just thought 'she'll be OK in a second.' I didn't believe them when they told me she'd died, I thought they'd made a mistake…"

"How long did the seizure last?"

"Over an hour on and off. There'd be another one following each."

"Were they ever able to give you a cause?"

"Brain tumour. But basically her body was under too much strain."

"When you think about that night, what is it that you think about?"

"I thought she'd wake up." He sniffed and wiped his face. "I thought she'd wake up again. I didn't… I didn't have the opportunity to talk to her and say goodbye. She was just gone."

John was sobbing quite hard at this point and Sherlock knelt by his chair and just held him for a while.

"It feels as though I have to say goodbye to Scarlet every second," John said into Sherlock's shoulder. "Every time she seizes, the doctor in me goes out of the window and all I can think of is 'have I told her enough yet?' And it's never enough."

"I don't understand," Sherlock said to him, still holding him closely. "If you're worried that you haven't done enough, why do you pull away from her the rest of the time? I don't understand why you wouldn't use every second to just be with her, but most of the time you look like you don't even want to look at her."

John pulled away and shook his head. "Because I'm terrified of her."

"I don't understand," Sherlock said, shaking his head, searching John's face for clarity.

"I can't explain it."

"Have you discussed this with each other before?" Dr Morrison broke in. They looked around at him. They'd almost forgotten he was there.

"Sort of." Sherlock replied. "We tried to discuss it after the fight until we got too tired. But I just… I just don't understand."

"Could you try to put it into words, John?"

John shook his head and answered Sherlock directly. "It's odd. When she's in a seizure, I'm just terrified. Plain, honest to God, terror. Sometimes I can't even move, I forget to breathe until she comes round. Afterwards I'm relieved, but that only lasts a second before I'm worrying about when the next seizure will happen. And yes, the most logical thing would be for me to spend every second with her, making the most of her but in reality all I want to do is bolt out the door and never go through it again. Basically what I feel like I'm doing is sitting around waiting for the one that will kill her." John covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hold back the sob.

Sherlock wiped his own eyes and went to sit back on his chair.

"I'm sorry," John whispered.

"No, it's fine," Sherlock told him. "I can understand now. The instinct to run away from things that terrify us is strong. It's hard to override, even when the thing that terrifies us is our child."

John shrugged. "Perhaps. I know other parents do it though. Other parents don't run away; you don't. I always thought that turning your back on your child was the hardest thing to do. It is too, even when I've wanted to make a clean break and just leave you to deal with it and her to be happy, I can't actually go. I want to do both; I don't want to leave her, ever, because that thought's horrible, but I don't want to be with her either, because that's terrifying. It feels… it's the strangest feeling, but the best I can describe it as is being frozen between wanting to run away and wanting to never leave her. So I do both, badly."

He looked at Sherlock, but Sherlock had his chin sunken to his chest, deep in thought.

"John," Dr Morrison said, "Now that you're aware of what you're doing, do you think that you might be able to override that instinct?"

"Um, I don't know. Maybe."

"Sherlock, would you be prepared to help him?"

Sherlock looked up. "Yes of course."

"OK, Sherlock, can we hear something about what's going through your mind when Scarlet has seizures?"

"My mind? Well, lots of things. The seizing part of it is fairly simple to deal with; it's a routine of 'make her safe, make her comfortable, make sure it doesn't go on too long, then wait for her to come around'."

"So it doesn't bother you?"

"It's dull, it's inconvenient, but ultimately no." He glanced at John. "Sorry. I know that sounds unfeeling."

"No, it sounds practical. It's how I used to deal with seizures."

"What about John's reaction." Dr Morrison asked. "How do you feel about that?"

"Now I know about it, guilty."

"But before? You would be dealing with a seizure and he'd be across the room not helping."

Sherlock side. "If I'm completely honest, I've lost count of the times that I've bitten back yelling at him to just get a bloody grip."

"Why haven't you yelled at him?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It wouldn't be very polite."

John gave him a watery smile. "You've never been that bothered about etiquette before!"

"I think on some level I knew some of it. There's also the point that your daughter's very sick. I know how hard that is and I just want to fix it for you. As time's gone by though, it's been harder. I have lost patience with you. I've snapped too. You're attacking yourself quite ably at the moment, but I haven't been faultless. I've been very frustrated with you too."

"I know. It's irritated me."

Sherlock smiled at him. "Sucks to be you."

John smiled back. "No, I mean, it's been irritating that I've known you're frustrated, but you won't just yell. You've been very… polite. You wouldn't talk to me about it."

Sherlock sighed. "John, I would, but I'm just plain exhausted. I don't get tired, and yet I'm tired all the time. Scarlet… she's demanding at the moment. I'm stressed and worried when I leave her, and when I'm with her she needs my full attention all the time. I'm just so tired. I think some of the reason I haven't understood what's going on with you, and some of the reason that I haven't yelled at you, is that I'm just plain tired. I don't think I've slept properly in a year because I'm constantly half listening out for her in case she seizes in the night or in case she's sick from a migraine. Then it's work all day. She's barely even been at school to give us a rest."

"To give you a rest. You're already giving me a rest."

"You don't sound very rested."

"No, well I've got The Fear sapping my energy."

"And I've got The Guilt sapping mine."

"Sherlock, please, please… it wasn't your fault. It's not because I'm stupid or that I don't understand. It wasn't. It was an accident. Blaming yourself is ridiculous."

Sherlock stared at the table.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Sherlock, what was it about the incident that leads you to believe it was your fault?" Dr. Morrison asked him.

He continued to stare down the table.

"He left the window open," John answered for him. "He left the window open, and Scarlet saw it and tried to climb up the front of the house to get in. She slipped and fell. It was an accident. I was equally as responsible for not drumming it into her that she shouldn't climb high things."

"You'd spoken to her about it less than an hour before. She defies you. I should have known and been more careful."

"Sherlock," Dr. Morrison told him, "You can't predict every single act a person will make."

"I usually can."

"So why do you think you couldn't this time?"

"I don't know!" He yelled. "I just didn't, I made a mistake! And now she's dead!"

John frowned. "No she's not!"

Sherlock looked at him, confused for a moment. "I know that. I didn't mean dead. Obviously, I meant brain-damaged."

"Sherlock, do you see them as the same thing?" John asked him.

"No! No I don't. It was just a slip, move on."

"I'd quite like to know where that slip came from," Dr. Morrison said quietly.

Sherlock pouted and stared at the coffee table. After a few moments he spoke quietly. "When I make mistakes, people die." Two large teardrops teetered, then fell. Sherlock ignored them.

"No they don't, Sherlock." John said softly. "You're not responsible for all of it."

Sherlock shook his head and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He seemed to remember the tissues and reached for them.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Sherlock," John said quietly, "remember with the old woman in the flats…"

"Oh God not this again!"

"No, it's just…"

"I didn't make a mistake that time! It wasn't my fault! It was hers!" He jerked suddenly as if he was struggling with nausea.

"So that wasn't your fault, but Scarlet's fall was?" John pushed him.

"Yes!"

"So there's no part of you that thinks that a girl of ten should be sensible enough not to try to climb the front of a building." Dr Morrison probed, softly.

"No!" Sherlock looked as though he was struggling to breathe slightly. "Please! Stop it!"

John kneeled in front of him, mirroring Sherlock's earlier position.

"Sherlock, love, what is this?"

Sherlock set his jaw and refused to talk any more. He was very still, but occasionally taking large gulping breaths. He was shaking slightly.

"OK." John said, "It's OK. We don't have to talk about this."

Sherlock sniffed and shuddered.

"Sherlock," Dr. Morrison said. "Are you happy to continue with the session?"

Sherlock was quiet a moment, then nodded slightly. John sat back down again, but he didn't release Sherlock's hand.

"So what do we do next?" John asked.

"Well, I'd quite like to continue if you're happy with that." John nodded. Sherlock simply shrugged. "I think there's a lot going on here and I think it's worth exploring. I just want to check here; you both want to work towards a resolution where you end up together."

"Yes," John answered. Sherlock nodded.

"Sherlock," John said, slowly, "I don't want to keep you if you don't want to be here."

Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat. "I love you. I want to be with you. It's just… it's hard. It's work."

"Yes. It is." He smiled at him. "It's not dull though, is it!"

Sherlock smiled. "No, it's not dull." He kissed John's hand. "And I do love you. I do want you. I certainly don't want to leave."

"Good then," Dr Morrison said. "So now we've discussed the row yesterday and various things surrounding it. I that I'd make two suggestions relating to that immediately, then discuss a time for another session. Firstly, John, I'd like you to think of something you can do with Scarlet, and then to do it. Ideally something out of the house. I'd like you to have a day just with her and you."

"I can't see her relishing the idea of a day out with me."

"Then you'll have to think very hard about what she'd enjoy whether you were there or not, then take it from there. The other thing I'd like you to do is to arrange a date. Just the two of you, out of the house together."

"Well, there's Scarlet to take care of," John instantly said.

"I'm sure you can find a babysitter."

"But if…" Sherlock said, his voice cracked and he cleared his throat and wiped his eyes again. "Sorry. If she seizes, we have to be there."

"Perhaps start slowly the first time. Perhaps arrange a meal out close by, so that you can get back quickly if necessary, and slowly get used to the feeling of being away from her. But you can't stay in her eye-line forever."

John and Sherlock glanced at each other.

"I can see that this is worrying for you," Dr. Morrison said. "I'd like you to try though. Do you think you could see what happens and report back?"

They nodded.

"Good, that's the first move. Now, when would be a good time for the next appointment?"

Phones came out and times were set. John and Sherlock left the building. It had become dark around them and the night was cold, but clear.

"Well, that was a barrel of laughs," Sherlock said when the door had closed behind them.

"It was never going to be fun."

"No."

"Do you regret going?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "No."

"Are you OK?" John asked Sherlock.

"Fine. Fine."

"So do you want to walk around for a bit and chat?"

"No. I want to go home. I want to go home, drink the tea that was so rudely denied me all day, then go to sleep for possibly sixteen hours."

"OK then."

"You know what I'd like to do tomorrow?"

"Mm?"

"I'd like to spend a day not talking about anything that's going to make me cry. I feel like I've lost four pints of fluid just with tears."

"It sounds like a sound plan." John linked his arm through Sherlock's and they walked together to find a cab.

oOo

They were both slightly concerned by the conversation they could hear as they walked up the stairs to the flat.

"I didn't know which colour, sir!" a woman's voice was saying.

"But you've seen her some ten or twelve times!"

"But I wasn't looking at her!"

"Well 'raven black' clearly isn't it!"

Sherlock pulled a face at John then walked in to find Mycroft and Anthea stood over the sofa, which was covered with boxes of hair-dye. He glanced round the room to find Scarlet, curled up on a sofa with a face like thunder and startlingly white hair. Well, most of it was startlingly white. There were streaks of her original colour showing through.

"Mycroft! I trusted you with her for less than two hours!" Sherlock yelled.

John came in after him and looked at her. He burst out laughing. Scarlet turned away, stuck her chin out and crossed her arms.

"Oh, Scarlet! What did you do?"

She refused to answer. She flushed though, and looked as though she was in danger of crying.

"We were going to fix it!" Mycroft snapped. "We were just looking for the closest colour match."

"Less than two hours, Mycroft!"

"Well I didn't know you were foolish enough to keep neat peroxide in the house, did I!"

"Look, it's fine," John said, pulling Scarlet into a hug. "It's just hair."

"But John, she starts school on Monday! Probably!"

"Any school worth their salt shouldn't care what colour a child's hair is. It's fine."

"It's… it's… it's not… good." Scarlet said. "It went… wrong."

"It's fixable," John told her. "Shall we see what Uncle Mycroft bought?"

She wiped her eyes and they went to stand look. Sherlock was rapidly picking up and discarding boxes with a frown on his face.

"I think closest would be one of these two," he said handing them over.

"Yeah, maybe. What do you think, Scarlet? Or how about something else?" He picked up a box. "'Chocolate brown?' Or, look at this one, 'Live Red'! You could be a proper scarlet, Scarlet!"

"John…"

"Sherlock, it's fine. It's just hair. What do you think, Scarlet?"

She smiled at him slightly. "I like the red."

"OK, let's go and sort it out. Oh, and for future reference, it's extremely inadvisable for you to pour anything you find in Sherlock's cupboard over your head, OK?"

She nodded but smiled.

Sherlock headed towards the kettle with Mycroft following.

"Sherlock, a word."

Sherlock groaned. "No! No more words! No more. I give up. I take a vow of silence and from this time forth there will be no more words!"

Mycroft smiled. "Sherlock, I just wanted to remind you of our little chat at the hospital."

"Recriminations and self-pity, not the time, blah blah blah. Turns out I've been ignoring you."

"How's that going?"

"Shut up."

"That part wasn't my point. It was rather the somewhat astute comment on Father's character that I was referring to."

"What, that he was a fucking cunt?"

"You said 'arsehole' before."

"I've upgraded him. He was worse than I'd previously thought." He turned around to face Mycroft. "Mycroft, I'm really screwed. I'm completely and utterly and hopelessly screwed."

"No you're not. You've got John and Scarlet. They seem to want to steer you right, most of the time."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's work."

"Is it worth it?"

"Yes. Absolutely. But it's still work. How come you're not as screwed as I am?"

Mycroft laughed. "Oh, Sherlock, darling brother, I don't try to be anything else!" He frowned. "Why are you putting sugar in my tea? You know I'm dieting again."

"It's not for you. It's for me."

"You've made yourself four cups of tea?"

Sherlock looked at him. "Your point?"

"Aha. I'd better gather Anthea and leave you alone with your husband, daughter, and forty-seven boxes of hair-dye."

"Thank you. Oh, and can you babysit Saturday?"

"Do you trust me?"

"If I have to."

"Oh, the flattery. Goodbye, Sherlock." He turned and left.

Sherlock followed him onto the landing. "Was that a yes?"

* * *

**Sorry! Felt the need to finish the chapter with a Mycroft conversation, as I do love him so. And also, it got a bit heavy there. And also, I've given myself a whole new lot of stuff to write about. I know what was in my mind when I was writing this but I'm not sure it's come across to the page at all.**

**I'd like to see John and Sherlock's date myself, but gah! More conversation. Maybe I can find a way to make it lighter. Sorry, the heavy stuff is sticking a bit at the moment.**


	28. Crime Scene

**I have had something of a challenging few days, and I find I really can't bear the idea of writing more stuff about the current challenges that I've landed Scarlet and Co with. So we're going to go back in time to when things were somewhat easier.**

**This was one of the most commonly asked for prompts from Just For Fun and I never actually wrote it in it's own right. So you lot get it.**

**Also, a nod towards CyberButterfly who wanted to see more of Sherlock at work.**

… **I'm half way through but broke off to say; among the many, many things I know fuck all about, crime-scene forensics is right up there. So again, making this up. I know it's not real. Please feel free to review saying 'you know that's all bollocks, don't you?' and I will respond saying 'Yes, yes I do. Thanks for reading and reviewing!'**

**

* * *

**_A couple of weeks after 'Lestrade'._

Sherlock strode across the car park outside the warehouse. Lestrade was talking to a group of uniformed police as he walked up to him.

"You called; I'm here."

Lestrade spun around. His jaw dropped.

"What the hell is _that_!"

"Lestrade, really! Firstly, she's clearly a 'who' and secondly, you can't possibly have forgotten Turnip! Two weeks ago she woke you up by poking you repeatedly in the eye!"

"No, I know who she is! I just want to know what in God's name possessed you to bring her to a crime scene!"

"You asked me to come!"

"I didn't ask you to bring a child with you!"

"I had no choice, I'm babysitting today!"

"You could have said 'No, I can't come, I'm babysitting!''

Sherlock frowned. "But then I wouldn't be here."

Lestrade shook his head, trying to get this conversation to a place where at least one of them was making sense to the other one.

"Sherlock, you really, really can't bring a three year old to a Crime Scene."

"She's only two."

"That's not the point! She's a child! It isn't safe for her to be here!"

"Do you think the murderer is still on site?"

"She'll contaminate the scene. Anderson will do his nut."

"I don't care about Anderson's reaction."

"OK, well, does John know you've brought her here?"

"He's at a job interview. I can't call him at the moment."

"OK, so if he wasn't, you'd call him and say 'Can I take Scarlet to a crime scene?' and you think he'd say 'Yes, yes of course!' Or do you actually think he'd be appalled at the suggestion and refuse to allow it?"

Sherlock glowered at him, and didn't answer.

"I see," Lestrade went on. "And in fact knowing this in advance you'd be very unlikely to call him, so in actual fact, you're quite glad he can't be contacted so he couldn't be asked?"

"Fine! Fine! Here you!" he called to a random policeman. "Can you take her for a second so I can have a look inside?"

The policeman gave him a startled smile, but when Lestrade nodded in agreement, he tried to take Scarlet. She instantly buried her head in Sherlock's shoulder and tightened her arms around his neck.

"No, no, come on now, Turnip, you're not _actually_ shy! You're just pretending... come on, it's just for a second... I'm sure... whoever this is is very nice really." He gave up trying to extract himself from her.

Lestrade looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Fine, OK," Sherlock said, his mind whirring. "OK, how bad is the scene? Is it relatively contained?"

"Well, the victim was dismembered using an industrial wood saw, in that building there."

"So you're saying..."

"Bloodbath."

"A contained bloodbath?"

Lestrade sighed. "You can take her just inside the building. Just inside, she can't go more than a foot or two from the door."

Sherlock nodded and they went into the warehouse. Before he went in, Sherlock noted the victim's car, tracks leading in and the height and width of the doorway. It was a bright sunny day and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside the large, vaulted building.

He stared around for a while.

"I can't see much from here."

"Well yes, that's sort of the point. Neither can she."

"It's not like she knows this stuff is nasty or frightening yet, Lestrade. If I have anything to do with it, she'll never think so. It's just a part of life. She'll have to live in a world where this sort of thing happens."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes at him.

"Just how much of an influence do you hope to have in her life?"

"What? I don't know. Some. An amount. Look this is no good, I have to get closer." He put Scarlet down on the floor, and grabbed some chalk and a piece of wood from a nearby workbench. "Look, Scarlet, drawing!" She took them from him and seemed vaguely happy to draw lines on the wood with the chalk. Sherlock straightened up and smiled at Lestrade. "Shall we?"

"What the hell is that?" a scathing voice sounded.

Sherlock sighed. "That, Anderson, is a child. A small, female child. Really, I'm not convinced your forensic skills are quite up to the job if you can't identify a small, female child from that distance."

"Anderson!" Lestrade snapped as Anderson stormed forwards, about to respond. "Anderson, just watch the kid for a minute."

"What!" Anderson spluttered. "I am _not_ a babysitter!"

"No!" Sherlock agreed calmly. "I am."

He strode past him towards the scene of gore. Lestrade followed him. It was not pretty. Well, not unless you really like dark reddish brown with flecks of white.

Sherlock strode around the area, taking everything in.

"Where's the head?" he asked.

"It... well, it seems to have been put into that press."

Sherlock looked at the press. The top plate was flush against the bottom, and on the floor there was an amount of...

"Head gloop," Sherlock said.

"Yes, from what we can tell, that is indeed... head gloop."

"It was a suicide!" Anderson shouted from across the room.

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade, startled. "Did he really just say that?"

"Well, yes..."

Sherlock turned away to hide his grin. He couldn't resist looking back at Lestrade who was trying not to laugh too.

"Suicide?" Sherlock said "That's the Met's best guess?"

Lestrade tried to muffle a snort. "Well no, _obviously_ it wasn't suicide."

"Well, no." He giggled.

Lestrade giggled too. "Stop making me laugh!"

"It's not me, it's Anderson!" He controlled himself and cleared his throat. "So. Not suicide."

"No." Lestrade shook his head. "The thing is, the victim is Paul Leader according to the ID we've found on parts of the body. The vehicle outside is his car and he appears to have driven himself here, to his place of work this morning, as usual, and he even swiped his own ID card through to let himself in, the same as he does early every morning."

"And?"

"Well, the thing is, both the press and the saw needed access codes that were unique to each person, and Leader knew the codes. He used the machines every day."

"And I'm sure any number of other people did too. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they were written on post-it notes and stuck on the office wall!"

Lestrade grabbed and held up an evidence bag that contained a post-it note with a six-digit number written on it.

"Well there you are then."

"But there's also the fact that the only fingerprints on the power buttons of both machines are Leader's."

Sherlock's eyebrows raised at this information.

"How did you get them so quick?"

"He was taken in for D and D a couple of months back and we've already run them. There aren't any other fingerprints anywhere about. He was the only one here."

"He was the only one who left fingerprints here," Sherlock corrected.

"You can't manage the key-pad in gloves," Lestrade told him. "It's got really odd buttons."

"Surgical gloves. Evidence gloves."

"It's possible, but... well, look at the keypad. Not the saw, but the press."

Sherlock frowned and looked at the keypad. It had touch sensitive buttons and the fingerprints were quite clear through the powder, even though impressions had already been taken. There was no way that someone could have touched the area, even in surgical gloves, and not disturbed the previous fingerprints at all. Paul Leader was indeed the last person to touch the key-pad.

There was a sudden, frantic scream from the door and Sherlock leapt back up, spun round and looked back to the door. Anderson was holding Scarlet up in the air while she screamed and thrashed and held her arms out desperately.

"Sherlooooooock!" she wailed.

"Anderson!" he yelled, tearing back across to her. "What the hell do you think you are doing! Unhand her! Unhand her this instant!"

"She's eaten something!"

"I don't care! You don't touch her!"

Sherlock grabbed Scarlet from him and she instantly buried herself against him, sobbing hard and shaking.

"What did you do to her?" Sherlock asked again.

"What?"

"Look, everyone just calm down!" Lestrade said, joining them. "Look, Sherlock, I did say you shouldn't have her here!"

"It's his fault! He frightened her!"

"It's not my fault! She's eaten something, and you, you," Anderson pointed at Sherlock's face. "You'd better hope it wasn't a finger or an ear, and if it was, you'd better hope like fuck Paul Leader didn't have some hideous disease or that thing's got it too now!"

Sherlock paled and held Scarlet to him tightly.

"Well what was it?" he asked quietly. "What did she eat?"

"I don't know." Anderson said, smugly.

"Anderson!" Lestrade yelled. "Stop being a complete tosser! Where was she and what did she have? You must have seen something, you were supposed to be watching her, for Christ's sake!"

"And I _said_ I wasn't a babysitter!"

"And I gave you a job to do and if I do that, you don't question it, you don't debate it, you bloody well do it! Now where was she?"

Anderson sniffed. "She was here. She didn't go anywhere. I wasn't looking closely but she was here the whole time in this two square meters."

"Well then," Lestrade said to Sherlock, "there were no body parts at all in this area. I didn't see any anyway; did you?"

Sherlock thought, then shook his head. He started breathing again, relieved. "Scarlet, sweetheart, what did you eat?"

She looked at him tearfully. "Chalk."

He looked down around him. Sure enough, the wood was still there, with lots of little chalk lines on it, but the chalk had gone.

"OK. OK then. All right. Chalk." He looked at her. "OK, do you think you can stop eating random objects when I take you out places?"

She hid her face against him again.

"OK, Sherlock, you have to take her home," Lestrade told him. "Sorry you couldn't help this time, but I'm sure we'll figure it out. Eventually."

"Help? Oh, yes. Paul Leader did it."

"I told you suicide!" Anderson crowed.

"Oh don't be such a moron!" Sherlock replied. "The body clearly isn't Paul Leader's!"

"But he's wearing Leader's boiler suit!" Anderson protested. "It has his name on it!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, well clearly the most likely thing is that Paul Leader had a bad couple of days, so drove himself to work so he could kill himself, then, already deceased, he fed his body through an industrial saw, scattering his own body-parts freely, and finally crushing his own head in a press. That's far, far more likely than he, I don't know, put his victim in his own clothes!"

Lestrade closed his eyes and groaned. "Of course. You know, that's so absurdly simple I can't believe we didn't think of it before."

"Yes, particularly when you have such a lot of absurdly simple officers to help you!"

"Yes, all right! Fine. Thank you for coming down, Sherlock. Thank you."

"It's fine. But I'm going to take Turnip away now."

"Yes," Lestrade said, following him out. "You might want to take her somewhere slightly more age-appropriate like, I don't know, maybe the mortuary? Or the evidence locker at the Yard?"

Sherlock grinned. "Yes, I think I do need to pay more attention to her education. I've been far too happy to leave things to chance and just let situations dictate what she learns but I might well need to be more structured."

"I was kidding Sherlock."

"And I found usefulness in the joke."

"So, you and John... I take it it's fairly serious."

"Yes."

"Well, that's good. That's... nice."

"Well, yes. Until I fuck it all up."

"You could just try not to do that."

"Mm."

"And he's a good person. I like him. He's sound. He's not going to let you get away with much which might well be helpful."

Sherlock smiled again. "Well, we'll see. Right now, I'm wondering how to hide the fact that I took his two year old to a crime-scene. It will be particularly difficult because I'm fairly sure Scarlet will just tell him. So we'll see."

"Well, I hope you find a way to make it up to him. Because it's quite nice to see you happy."

Sherlock blushed. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"And it's extremely funny watching you battle at toddler."

"Good."

"Sherlock, I hate to mention this, but there does seem to be an impressively foul smell coming from your area. Are you sure you haven't lost control of your bowels?"

Sherlock stopped and eyed Scarlet. "Oh, Scarlet, couldn't you have waited until your Dad gets home?"

She smiled at him. "I dunna poo in my nappy."

"Wonderful. Thanks." He looked at Lestrade. "Anderson should do it. It's his fault."

"No, Sherlock."

"Would you...?"

"No, absolutely not, Sherlock. I didn't have kids; I get to dodge that particular bullet!"

Sherlock sighed. "OK, I'm going to need some more gloves. And a forensics suit. And a face mask if you've got one spare. And all the information you're able to find about potty training and how to do it really quickly and without a single accident. Then I'll be fine."

* * *

**A short one, but fun to write.**

**Hope you enjoyed. Pip. xxx  
**


	29. Holiday

_Scarlet is six_

"No!"

"Oh come on, Sherlock, it will be fun!"

"No it won't."

"You're just such a home-body sometimes!"

"I am not!"

"Then why can't we have a holiday?" John leaned on the kitchen table to stare at Sherlock.

Sherlock was sat sullenly on a kitchen chair.

"We've been on loads of holidays!" he said.

"No we haven't! When? When did we last go on holiday?"

Sherlock paused to think about this.

"Devon."

"That was work."

"Milan."

"That was work too. And I wasn't there."

"What about that time in Paris?"

John frowned. "What time in Paris?"

Sherlock thought again. "Oh. No, that was before we met."

"So all of these 'loads of holidays' we've apparently had are in fact in your imagination."

"No, John. I use my imagination for more important things than holidaying."

"So, I'll call Adam and tell him yes, we'd love to borrow the boat for a week."

"A _boat_, John! Of all things, there are fewer things I can imagine being less relaxing than a week on a boat."

"OK then, Butlins."

Sherlock shuddered. "Do they still exist? God, I thought they'd burned all those hell-holes to the ground."

"Nope, some people like them. It could be a laugh."

"It really couldn't."

"CenterParcs."

"No."

"We could go camping."

"In a _tent? _ No."

"So the boat then."

"John, _why_ a boat? Why?"

"Look, I'm not suggesting that we go across the channel or anything. Just a couple of short trips up and down the coast into different harbours, and maybe across to Cowes for a trip."

"Why?"

"Because it will be fun!"

"It'll be work."

John sat down to look at him. "Sherlock? Please. I promise I'll do as much of the work as I can. I'll have to, because you don't know how to sail. But please come, because if it's just me and Scarlet, we won't be able to go anywhere at all, and it won't be nearly as much fun."

Sherlock stared at him a while. "You've already told this Adam person 'yes' haven't you."

John looked mildly embarrassed.

"I've already got the keys. He's stuck in Russia for the next two months, and it's half term next week, so he said..."

"Hell, John!" Sherlock yelled. "I hate holidays! I hate holidays and I hate boats and I hate you!"

He stood up savagely, and stormed from the room. John listened to him stamping all the way upstairs and the slamming of the bedroom door behind him. He could even hear the creaking of the bed as Sherlock threw himself down on it.

John rolled his eyes and stood up to find a book to read as he waited for Scarlet's school day to end.

oOo

At two, John climbed the stairs to the bedroom. He opened the door to find Sherlock, lying on the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"How's the sulk going?" he asked him.

Sherlock didn't respond, but John was sure his eyes had flashed slightly, and that there was an almost imperceptible tightening in Sherlock's jaw. He smiled and walked up to the bed, climbed on, and walked on his knees to Sherlock.

"I'm very sorry that I want to go on holiday with you, Sherlock," he said, contritely, sitting back on his feet.

There was a slight twitch on Sherlock's mouth, before it was controlled back to the steady, slight pout.

John kissed his chin, but Sherlock didn't respond. John lay down next to him and stared at the ceiling too.

"I have to admit," John said, with a sigh, "that part of the allure was just because I wonder what sex would be like on a boat." He glanced at Sherlock. There was most definitely a tic going in his jaw now. There was also a slight frown, which John suspected was because he couldn't control the tic. "Sex with a man, I mean. Obviously I know what it's like with a woman..."

Sherlock's head snapped round to look at him. "You know, you're completely evil!" he said.

John smiled.

"No I mean it." Sherlock said. "I've seen master criminals, killers, murderers, torturers... none of them are a patch on you!"

John grinned. "Please come Sherlock."

"Now? Do we have time before school ends?"

John rolled his eyes again. "No, I meant..."

"Oh, you meant on holiday. OK, fine, whatever. Now the other thing..."

He spun round until he was straddling John. "I'm assuming you have left enough time before coming up to find me."

"Of course."

"It felt like _hours_."

John grinned. "Well, you were being quite mean."

oOo

Early the following day found the two of them, along with Scarlet, in the office at Chichester marina.

"You've picked a good week for it!" the receptionist told them. "The weather's going to be nice and calm. Great for novices!"

"Thanks, well, we'll be back here next Friday I should think, all being equal."

"Here you go, this gives you this week's code for the facility block, the VHF channel you'll need for the lock-keeper and harbour master, and the tide times. You'll want to leave an hour or two each side of low tide to try getting back in."

"Brilliant, thanks for your help." John said.

They left to find the boat, Scarlet jumping ahead and Sherlock trailing miserably, carrying what he felt was excessive amounts of provisions.

"Come on Sherlock!" John called back to him, heading down onto a pontoon with Scarlet.

"Sherlock, look!" Scarlet squealed. "We're floating!" She jumped up and down a couple of times and laughed loudly.

As soon as Sherlock's feet hit the pontoon he swayed and staggered slightly. His eyes widened and he stood still for a moment.

"Come on!" John called to him. "We're only just over here!" He had stopped by a boat on a jetty not a great distance from the shore.

"I'll be there in a minute!" Sherlock called back. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"It's OK, Sherlock, it's perfectly safe." Scarlet had come back to him and was gently holding his sleeve. He smiled at her, remembering that as children go, Scarlet could be so caring and gentle at times. "You can even jump!" she said, doing so.

"Christ! Please don't do that, Scarlet!" Sherlock said.

He followed her taking giant, careful steps towards the boat.

John had already unzipped the awning over the cockpit and was on board with the luggage. He turned to offer Scarlet a hand but she laughed and leapt aboard, catching the guard rail. Sherlock reached to take John's hand but John had already turned away. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and carefully climbed aboard. His coat snagged on the guardrail and he silently cursed, remembering John's comments about suitable clothing for a boat.

"Right, keys..." John said searching through his pockets. He looked at Sherlock. "Why did you leave the food on the jetty?"

Sherlock looked back at it. "I needed both hands to get on board."

"Well go and get it now."

"I'm not getting off again."

John sighed. "Fine," he said, handing the keys to him. "You open up and I'll get the bags."

Sherlock was still fiddling with the lock when John got back, and John shoved him aside to take over. He slid back the roof, clipped back the door, and skipped lightly down the ladder to the main cabin.

"Oh it's nice!" he called up. He turned around to help Scarlet down the ladder. "You've got to be careful, Moppet, because boats steps can be a bit steep. Make sure you hold on to something."

She got to the floor and was instantly enchanted, running off to see what was through each door. There was a crash from behind them and John turned again to see Sherlock sat on the floor, legs and arms at angles, looking like a very surprised, giant spider.

"Sherlock, what is wrong with you? You're not this clumsy."

Scarlet darted up to him and pulled him by the hand. "Come and look, Sherlock! There's a tiny bedroom and a teeny tiny toilet!"

"Joy," Sherlock muttered, following her.

John pottered around putting things straight and organising other things. He quickly found the child-sized life-jacket he'd bought for Scarlet and wasted no time in securing her into it.

"Now look," he told her, seriously. "You have to wear this all the time, but you can come and go as long as you tell us where you're going and don't go to far. And don't annoy anyone. But when we're actually sailing, you have to be harnessed and clipped to the boat in the cockpit, and not move."

"Oh!"

"No, don't whine, Scarlet, when you're on a boat, you have to be safe first and foremost."

She stropped, but got over it fairly quickly and darted back up the ladder to look around.

"Did you get one for me?" Sherlock asked him.

"There are adult ones already here." John rummaged through lockers until he found a couple and handed one across to Sherlock. "You don't have to put it on now!" John told him, hanging his own one on a hook.

"No, no, that's fine. I wouldn't want Scarlet to feel she was being singled out."

John looked at him carefully for a moment, then took over strapping him into his harness, and then pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for coming, Sherlock. I know this isn't your idea of fun, but hopefully you won't find it so hard to pretend in a bit."

Sherlock hugged him back. "I really don't like boats," he said.

John pulled away to frown at him. "What is it about boats? You don't like a lot of things but this is just weird."

"They... wobble."

John sat down at the table. "Look, I was intending to go as far as Portsmouth today and spend a couple of days there so that Scarlet can go to the naval museum and look at the tall ships. Would you prefer to stay here instead? Perhaps make the trip when you're a bit more comfortable?"

Sherlock hesitated, but he recognised the eager expression on John's face, despite him trying to hide it. "No, it's fine. I'll be fine in a second I'm sure. It's just taking me a while longer to acclimatise than it is you."

"I've sailed my whole life, Sherlock. This is practically like going home for me. But I'm more than happy to wait."

"No, it's fine. Besides, I have no idea how long it might take to acclimatise. Maybe years."

John smiled. "OK, I'll get ready. You go up-top and keep an eye on Scarlet."

Sherlock steeled himself but did so. A minute later he put his head through the door to ask for bread to feed the swans and when John got up-top with tea and biscuits, Sherlock and Scarlet were on their tummies, leaning over the side trying to spot fish in the water.

With military precision, John got everything stowed away, organised and arranged and was pretty much ready to leave the minute there was enough water in the river. There was a moment of panic and confusion when both he and Sherlock simultaneously realised that Sherlock really couldn't be trusted to steer them out, but he also couldn't be trusted to get back on the boat after casting them off, but John made a neat little lasso and did both jobs. Sherlock sat one side of the cockpit, wide-eyed and clinging onto a winch and Scarlet sat opposite him, wriggling with excitement and regularly leaping up to wave at people.

John steered them out of the marina and into the river. All the way along there were boats moored to buoys and Scarlet shouted the names out as they passed, continuing to wave at people walking along the Quayside. John concentrated quite hard steering them down the narrow channel in the middle. He was completely absorbed in his task until Scarlet's voice piped up.

"Are you OK, Sherlock? You look a bit funny."

John looked down at him. Sherlock was really quite green. He wiped his hand over his face and swallowed hard.

"Sherlock! You can't possibly be seasick!" John told him.

"Why not?" he asked, gruffly.

"Well, apart from anything else, we're not on the sea! We're still on the river."

"John, there's something you should know about me." Sherlock stopped for a moment and swallowed again. "I was once called to a scene down on Brighton Marina. Murder on a boat. Nasty. I was... unwell. A lot."

"Well maybe that was to do with the scene?"

"No, no. I didn't make it onto the boat."

"You were seasick on a _jetty?"_

"Stop it."

"Sorry it's just..." He couldn't help but grin.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not. I'm sorry." He looked away, trying to hide his amusement.

Sherlock leaned forward and covered his face for a moment and John looked at him, concerned.

"Scarlet, love, could you pop downstairs and get Sherlock a bucket?" He unclipped her and she obediently scurried downstairs and was quickly back up again. She put the bucket on the floor next to Sherlock who didn't move.

After a moment Sherlock mastered himself and sat up again.

"Look, I think I'd better go and lie down, downstairs."

"No, don't do that. No, I'm not being mean, you're honestly better up here. You need to keep looking at the horizon."

"That won't help."

"Going downstairs will certainly be a disaster."

"I don't need a bucket."

"I don't want you leaning over the side. If you're going to throw up, use the bucket."

"I can't believe the six year old is managing better than me." Sherlock grumbled.

"Well it's Scarlet, isn't it. She's as sure footed as a goat."

"Humpf."

John clipped Scarlet back on again, and they finally got into the estuary, and could see open water.

"Sherlock, we're in a position where I can turn around now. Let's go back and stay in Chichester. I'm sure it's a lovely place for a holiday."

"No, I want to go on."

"No, it's not worth it! We'll go back to Chichester, and I'll get some medication for you, and we can try again tomorrow."

"No! I want to go to Portsmouth now!" Sherlock yelled.

"OK then," John placated him.

Sherlock glared at the horizon as if it was an enemy in an essential game of chess.

"If it's any help," John told him, "most people start feeling better quite quickly."

"I'm not most people," Sherlock pointed out.

"Well, no, but you're still human."

"Shit," Sherlock said, as the mild swell suddenly hit them.

"Look, I'm going to take you back."

"No! I swear, John, if you take me back now, I will never speak to you again! Ever!"

"OK! OK! Jesus you're a stubborn fucker."

"I'm going to the front bit. And don't swear in front of Scarlet."

"You did."

"I'm indisposed."

"OK. Just keep clipped on to the runner and don't do anything silly."

"Not going to be a problem."

Sherlock shuffled, without actually standing up, sideways along the deck until he was closer to the bow. He sat there and continued his war with the horizon. John shrugged and left him to it. He told Scarlet about the channel markers and she counted them as they motored past. She came to stand at the helm and help steer. They both politely ignored the sound of Sherlock retching.

John waited until they were clear of the river mouth before he went down to the bow and sat down next to Sherlock, who was lying on his back with his eyes closed, looking miserable.

"You OK?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he sat up in a panic.

"What the hell are you doing? Who's steering?"

"Scarlet is."

"What? Are you completely insane? What if she crashes? What if she falls off?"

"It's fine, Sherlock, relax! Of course I haven't left Scarlet steering! I've put the autohelm on and she's just holding the wheel and pretending. And she's clipped on, so she won't fall off."

"Your horizon tip was rubbish."

"Well, it's the best one I've heard. Short of medication, not much else works. I just don't know why you didn't tell me you got sea-sick."

"I told you I didn't like boats."

"Well yes, but you don't like anything. It's not quite the same as saying 'John, a boat will make me really ill!'"

"You wanted to come." He sighed and sniffed. "Sorry. It's always been the same. As long as I can remember."

"I just wish you'd have said."

"Well, I say 'remember', but I don't actually remember when I was last on a boat."

"So you didn't actually know until the Brighton Marina incident."

"No, I knew before that. Mycroft told me. He told me boats are evil and will make me sick."

They were silent for a moment.

"And you believed him?" John finally asked.

"No... no, John I fail to believe that I've been sick on two different occasions simply because my brother told me I would be."

"Stranger things have happened, Sherlock."

"No. No I do not accept it. I am _not_ suggestible! My brain is better than that!"

"So if I told you that being at sea makes me randy as a rabbit, you wouldn't instantly be thinking about sex."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Well for one thing, you're not Mycroft. There's no way I'd have believed Mycroft."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Three or four I suppose."

"So at that point, you didn't look up to your ten year old brother."

Sherlock pouted. "I refuse to accept that it's even possible."

"Well, how are you feeling now?" John asked him.

Sherlock looked confused for a moment. "I don't know."

"OK, well you stay up here if you want. I just wanted to warn you that I'm putting the sails up and we'll tip slightly. Hold onto something." He kissed Sherlock on the forehead and headed back to the cockpit.

Sherlock looked up and watched as the mainsail slowly rose above him. It fluttered for a moment, then with a pleasant 'whumpf' sound, it filled and swung out slightly, pulling the ropes taut. The boat listed slightly and Sherlock scooted backwards to get to the high-side and looked at John who was making minor adjustments to the sail with a delightful look of concentration on his face. Sherlock looked back to at the sail.

"Sherlock?" John called to him. "I'm about to put up the gib! I need you to stay well clear of all the ropes!"

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. Suddenly he bounded back along the deck yelling "No! Let me! I want to!"

John grinned. "Be my guest."

Forty minutes later, Sherlock settled down to send a text to Mycroft.

_'I can sail! Boats are ace! You're a lying toad!'_

"I'm not sure you'll get a signal out here," John pointed out.

Sherlock looked at his phone for a moment, then shrugged. "Oh well, sod him," he said, tossing the phone into the cabin. "Can I do some more steering? And can we do that tacking thing again? And I'm hungry, did you bring any food?"

oOo

Text from JohnW to MH, MrsH and Glestrade: 'Dear all, we're here safe. Having great time. Please see attached wet-Sherlock pic.'

Reply from Glestrade: 'Hahahaha!'

Reply from MrsH: "Oh dear, Sherlock! LOL."

Reply from MH: "Marvellous! Made my night!"

Text from SH to JohnW, MH, MrsH, and Glestrade: "Very funny. It could have happened to anyone."

Text from JohnW to MH, MrsH, Glestrade and SH: "Yes, anyone who forgets which side we moored at. Me and Scarlet are dry."

Reply from MrsH: "LOL, Sherlock!"

Reply from Sherlock: "You mean 'Load's of Love' don't you?"

Reply from MrsH: "No, Sherlock."

Reply from JohnW: "No, she's not the idiot around here, Sherlock."

Text from SH to John, MH, MrsH and Glestrade: "I want a divorce."

Reply from Glestrade: "No you don't."

Reply from MrsH: "No you don't."

Reply from MH: "No you don't."

Sherlock looked across the cabin at John. He'd converted the table into a bed and was curled up under an epic duvet looking ridiculously comfortable. From where Sherlock was sitting, perched on the top of the ladder to the cockpit, John looked delicious.

"I've lost all credibility since being with you," He told him.

John smiled. "Do you want to come over here and tell me about that divorce that you want?"

Sherlock pretended to consider for a second then darted into the bed, snatching, then dropping John's phone to the floor and kissing him long and deep.

"I love you, Sherlock," John said when they broke apart.

"I love you too. Now, about this boat sex you keep going on and on about..."


	30. Date Night

**You see now, you all tell me that the angst is hard to read and a difficult chapter, and yet 'The Row' is the chapter that's dashing into the lead with the hits. It's very difficult to write for you people when you tell me you want light, happy fluff, but secretly you actually want turmoil and angst.**

**This chapter is actually half way between the two, but it puts us back on track as far as any plot for this thing goes.**

**Other fun fact – this is now my longest fic. It overtook Just For Fun a couple of chapters ago.**

**

* * *

**_The Saturday following 'Couples Counselling'._

Scarlet sat on the sofa, watching Sherlock as he paced up and down the room.

"… please text me before you make any decision or actions relating to tattoos or body piercing. And call if you need anything. And call if Mycroft says anything inappropriate to you. In fact, call at fifteen minute intervals, just to be safe."

"Won't that… disturb your... day?... date?"

He thought about this. "A text will do. Don't let him show you any unsuitable films or websites."

"How would I tell?"

"Text me the name of the film or website."

"You want me to text you… potential... fish... porn sites while… you're on a... a date?"

Sherlock though about this too, but only briefly before moving on. "OK, where were we? Don't let him experiment on you in either a physical or psychological way."

"How would I know… psychological?"

Sherlock sat down beside her. "You know, maybe this is a really bad idea." He tucked a stray lock of bright red hair behind her ear.

"It's fine, Dad! I'll be fine. If I'm not… I promise I'll call. Besides, Mrs Hudson is just... down and Scout will… protect me."

"Don't take Scout out on your own."

"I won't! Please sit... calm down. Aren't you going to… get, get ready?"

"It's just Angelo's. I'm fine as I am."

"John's dressing up."

"Really? Why?"

"It's his first... date in… years."

"Do you think I should change?"

They were interrupted by a sedate sounding knock on the door knocker. "He's finally here! He's late!"

"No he's not!"

"He should have been earlier than I'd said," he replied, bounding out of the door.

He opened it and stared at Mycroft for a while. Mycroft stared back. The impasse lasted for a minute or two.

"Thank you for babysitting," Sherlock said.

"Are you going to invite me in, or am I expected to watch your daughter from here?"

Sherlock snarled slightly but opened the door so that Mycroft could get in. He didn't move aside though, so Mycroft was forced to push past him slightly.

"Not enough room for you, Mycroft?"

"Is there a particular reason you're being a prick, Sherlock?" He stood back to look at him. "You're tense. You're worried about this date aren't you? You'll be fine, Sherlock. John is a nice boy who will look after you beautifully."

Sherlock stuck out his chin and refused to answer. Mycroft smiled and turned away to head upstairs.

"Oh, I invited Inspector Lestrade to join me here."

"Why?"

"To annoy you of course."

"Why would it annoy me? I think it's a marvellous idea. He's responsible, calm, he's not likely to allow my only child to permanently disfigure herself…"

"It's only hair, Sherlock, it's not permanent. I would know."

"The only possible impact it will have on my evening is that John will be delighted and will spend the whole evening speculating about… Oh. Very clever. Well done."

John appeared ran down the top stairs. "Hello, Mycroft!"

There was another bang on the door-knocker and John darted past them. "I wonder who that is?" He was didn't wait for an answer and ran downstairs to open the door. Mycroft and Sherlock resumed staring at each other while Scarlet rolled her eyes and played a game on her phone.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Lestrade's voice said as he came up the stairs. "Sorry, I sort of assumed that Mycroft had told you."

"No, no, it's fine," John said as they came into view. "Thanks for coming. I'm beginning to feel that Scarlet needs the complete attention of at least two adults just to stay out of trouble."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Ah! Gregory! There you are!" Mycroft smiled at him.

Lestrade looked slightly concerned.

John grinned, happily, at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Come on. We'd better get going. Scarlet isn't allowed any of that wine!" he said, nodding at the bottle Lestrade was carrying.

"I'm not going to give an eleven year old wine!" Lestrade protested.

"Actually, Mycroft, we don't need you tonight after all," Sherlock said. "Lestrade's here, he's a responsible adult!"

"Leave them alone!" John said.

"There isn't a 'them'!" Sherlock hissed at them. Lestrade looked extremely embarrassed.

"Look, you've both got both of our numbers," John said to them. "Call if you need anything. Anything at all, we're just five minutes away. Bedtime's nine." He handed Sherlock his coat and bustled him out the door.

"That was it?" Sherlock asked as they walked away. "You leave me with loads more instructions than that and I'm her father!"

They could still be heard faintly bickering as the opened the front door.

Lestrade, Mycroft and Scarlet all looked at each other. Scarlet had the impression that this was going to be a long evening.

oOo

Sherlock and John strode along the street together.

"Are you going to have a cigarette on the way?" John asked.

"I didn't think you'd noticed."

"It took a while."

"Do you mind?"

"I'd prefer you weren't smoking yourself in to an early grave. But it's your choice. And I sort of like the smell. It reminds me of when we were first together. I mean in the beginning, not when we were first _together_ together."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe I'll not give up again."

"I would gladly trade the smell to have the the feeling that you'll live a long and healthy life."

"No, you'll never relax about my health and well being."

"Maybe not."

They stood still a moment and Sherlock took his cigarettes out. He stared at them a few moments then he walked to a nearby bin and dropped the packet and the lighter into it.

"I've given up again."

"OK then."

They walked in silence for a while.

"Sherlock..."

"Mm?"

"What was your Dad like?"

"He was a tosser."

"No, I mean... could you tell me about him?"

"About Father?" Sherlock was silent for a while. "Well, he was clever. I remember that he was very clever. In fact, imagine Mycroft, but without all the warmth and humanity."

John snorted. "Look, I know you didn't like him and I know he wasn't very nice. I just wondered if you could, I don't know, tell me a story about him."

"A story?"

"An anecdote."

"Why?"

"Because..." John drifted off for a moment as they walked on, and Sherlock waited. "Sherlock, I think that there's something going on with you, and sometimes something happens and it's like we scratch the surface of something that causes you pain. I think it would be better if we could dig out whatever that thing was."

Sherlock thought about this for a moment. "What would be better?"

"The way that you feel."

"Most of the time I feel pretty good. I like you, I like Scarlet, I like my work. Actually, in comparison to other times in my life, I think I'm pretty lucky. And there's the added bonus that Mycroft is insanely jealous of me."

"Yes, but don't you think that sometimes some of that... joy, that niceness, is sometimes blocked by something getting in the way? Because I think I've seen it happen sometimes."

Sherlock sighed. "I think I'm going to need to go back for those cigarettes," he said.

"Too late now, we're here." John smiled and held the door open for them.

Sherlock glanced at him with a frown for a moment, before going inside.

Both men found it nearly impossible not to smile in Angelo's presence. He remained as effusive and delighted with Sherlock as he had done on that night nearly fifteen years before. He shook their hands warmly now as he greeted them!

"Sherlock! John! What is it to be tonight, Sherlock? Will you be eating or would you prefer to stare out of the window, ignoring everyone?"

"Thank you, Angelo, I'll be eating."

"Ah good! You know you don't treat John nicely enough." He waved them towards a table further inside and grabbed a couple of menus.

"John's fine, Angelo," Sherlock told him.

"You need to treat nice people nicely, Sherlock, otherwise they all run away!"

"John's fine." He took a seat.

"No, it's true," John told him, taking off his coat and sitting down. "you don't treat me nicely enough."

Sherlock smiled at him.

"And how is young Scarlet?" Angelo asked John.

"Oh she's fine, thank you," he replied.

"She's trouble," Sherlock grumbled.

"I don't believe it," Angelo answered. "That child is the sweetest child I ever met! Not like my brother's grandchildren, always asking for things, never saying please or thank you, just breaking things and making noise."

"Actually that sounds familiar," Sherlock said.

"No, not from Scarlet, that child is a perfect angel. You're lucky to have her."

"I know it," Sherlock said softly.

"She's a perfect angel with red hair now, Angelo," John told him.

"You let her dye her hair! What are you thinking man! She's a little girl! Oh Scarlet, oh no no no!" He wandered off, muttering.

John and Sherlock grinned. Bonnie, a waitress delivered a bottle of wine, unasked for, to the table and poured them each a glass. Angelo attempted to gift it to them every time they ate there, and they graciously accepted with thanks, then left him more than enough to cover it in the tip.

"So," John said, "your Dad."

"Yes, about that. I don't think I want to talk about it."

"To me specifically, or to anyone."

Sherlock drank some wine and thought. "I don't want to talk about it to anyone. However, I think you're right and that I ought to, and I'd rather discuss it with you than anyone else."

"OK."

"But not tonight. Please. How about I promise that at some point, once a week, I tell you a short anecdote about him. Not at a specific time, like therapy, but whenever something comes up or it seems like an opportune time. Would that work for you?"

"OK. Thank you."

"But not tonight. Dr. Morrison was right. We need time off. I don't want to relive or contemplate or anything else. Just an evening off. Nothing about my parents, nothing about Scarlet, nothing about her fall, nothing about whatever strange little things are going on in your head. Just normal conversation."

"OK then."

They stared at each other for a moment, without speaking.

"So, what do you think you'll have?" John finally asked, and they discussed the menu for a while.

Midway through their starters, Sherlock looked up at John.

"I've just remembered, I have four and a half million pounds that I'd like to get rid of. Can you think of someone I should give it to?"

John sat there, frozen with a mouth full of food. After a moment, he remembered himself, swallowed and took a sip of wine before speaking.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, would you like to run that by me again?"

"I have some money, and I'd like to get rid of it. I say four and a half million, but it's probably accumulated a fair amount of interest by now, wouldn't you think?"

"I don't know, how long have you had it?"

"It would be... well, over twenty years now."

John's eyebrows shot up, but he concentrated on the question. "Then depending on the account it's in, it probably has accumulated a bit yes."

"Oh, I don't know which account. Mycroft sorted it all out for me."

"Was it some kind of inheritance?"

"Yes. After Mummy died it turned out she hadn't spent father's money. I think there would have been more, apart from Father's other woman got some. Mycroft put up a bit of a fuss about that until Mummy told him to stop and just let her have some."

John continued staring at Sherlock. "I'm sorry, I'm having real difficulty getting past the point where you have nearly five million pounds."

"I don't see why. It's just money. Who should I give it to?"

"Well you could give it to me!"

Sherlock frowned. "Would you want it?"

John snorted. "No. Well, yes, actually I could think of a number of things I'd spend some money on, but really, I'm just... I'm actually really quite shocked, Sherlock. I can't believe you never told me! What about 'what's mine is yours' and all of that stuff?"

"Well of course if you want it it's yours. I just kept forgetting. It didn't really come up in conversation."

"Well yes, considering one of us had no idea that it even existed, it wasn't really likely to come up!"

"Look, John, when I first got it, I didn't want it, and I told Mycroft as much so he put it away for me and arranged to have some transferred to my bank account for living costs and the like. I didn't want that either, so I decided I'd spend that portion of the money on..."

John frowned at him as he stopped talking.

"I spent it on the drugs, OK!" Sherlock whispered crossly. "I didn't take all of what I bought, I... shared some, hell, I probably lost some, but at one point my habit was quite expensive. I knew that Father would disapprove of that more than any other purchases, so that's what I did with it."

John stared, speechless again.

"Don't look at me like that, it's not like you didn't know about the drugs!"

"Yes, I knew about the drugs. I didn't know about the money though!"

"It's just money, John!"

"No, keeping a ten pound win on a scratch-card is 'just money', Sherlock, three million pounds in the bank isn't!"

"Have you started doing scratch-cards again?"

"Don't deflect this to me! Look, what I don't understand is, there have times that you've really struggled! When we first met it was because you couldn't afford a room by yourself!"

"Oh, I probably could have if I'd have worked a bit harder, but it seemed like too much effort. Besides, it worked out for the best, didn't it?"

"Yes, but... but..."

"What? Is this because I didn't tell you? Look, I forgot, and I'm asking now, for you to help get rid of it. Better late than never, wouldn't you say."

John reverted to just staring at him. Bonnie came to take their plates away and John was just about capable of thanking her and smiling. As soon as she'd gone he reverted to staring. Sherlock decided not to say anything more for a while.

Main courses came, and they ate and agreed that they were delicious as always. There was small-talk.

"What should we get Scarlet for Christmas?" Sherlock asked, suddenly.

"We're not supposed to be talking about Scarlet, remember?"

"But this is a fun thing. What do you think she'd want?"

"Er, I'm not sure. I think she'll want art supplies as usual."

"But what about something different too. Something special."

"I don't know. A bike or something?"

"Can she ride a bike?"

"Actually no."

"How did we forget that?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "We've always lived in flats. I just... forgot."

"She wants a pony."

"She can't ride horses either."

"She could learn."

"She can't have a pony."

"Why not?"

"Because we'd have to keep it miles away, and then we'd lose every weekend when she wants to go and visit the pony. Well, for the first few weeks anyway, then she'd go off the idea or would have something better to do and all of a sudden, there'd months would go by and she wouldn't have even visited once."

"That's pretty much what you said about the dog."

"Yes, and which family member does ninety percent of everything Scout needs?"

"Mm, maybe not my best argument. So not a pony then. What else?"

"I don't know. I'm wondering what we could afford for _five million pounds."_

"Oh for heaven's sake! Really? You really can't get over this?"

"No, Sherlock, you seem to be under the impression that it's a minor lapse in memory, but it's really not!"

"Really?"

"No, no it would be like me..." John paused as he tried to think of an equivalent that Sherlock would understand. "OK, it's like me having access to the best forensic laboratory in the world, and failing to mention it to you for seven years."

"I haven't mentioned it for longer than that."

"Yes, but before that I didn't have any right to know."

"Do you have a right to know now?"

"Yes! Well, maybe actually no. Maybe I shouldn't, I don't know actually." He looked up at Sherlock. "It's the sort of thing I would have shared with you. I don't mean the money necessarily, that's fine, we haven't starved and we haven't even really struggled, but I mean the information about the money I would have shared."

Sherlock grunted in response and thought about this. "Well, perhaps. But it really was an oversight."

"I'm bemused about the idea of accidentally forgetting about five million pounds."

Sherlock smiled. "I think we're seeing the same objects as different things. You're seeing it as money, something useful, the means to an end. I'm seeing it as an unwanted gift from someone I can't throw it back at any more. The only think I could do was forget it. Well, I suppose I could have given it away before, but to be honest, I kept forgetting."

"Perhaps," John agreed. He frowned. "Though let me point out, it _is_ money, the needs to an end and something useful."

"That's a fair point. One argument could be that the best revenge against him would be to take the money he worked hard for and didn't enjoy, and using it to have a bloody good time."

"Yep, I'd go with that."

Sherlock snorted, then frowned. "Actually, I'm suddenly feeling miffed that I didn't think of that twenty years ago."

"Well, you did do all the drugs."

"That's true. I really was incredibly stupid, wasn't I."

"Only in some ways. But this money, you find you want to give it away now."

"Yes. What should I do with it?"

"I don't know. Are there any charities that you particularly like?"

"I could probably think of one or two. I'd like some of it to go to research."

"Good idea." John went back to his food.

Sherlock watched him for a moment, then put down his cutlery. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"No, there is, it's somehow connected to the money..."

"No it's just... OK, look, I think that obviously the best thing to do is to give it to charity, obviously other people's needs are greater, and being altruistic is better and all that..."

"Oh I don't care about that, I just would rather it was gone and that's the quickest way."

John smiled. "The thing is... I worry about Scarlet."

"In what way? Do you think we should switch to private treatment?"

"No, no it's not that. It's just... OK, this is going to sound horrible, but she wants to do something arty, or with music or something, and I think that she'll be good at that. But I also think, those are professions where you don't actually see that much return early on. And I think that it's possible she might be hampered in other, more mundane jobs because of the speech and because of needing time off if she's ill and that sort of thing. I know I'm sounding all doom and gloom, and I really hope she finds something that she likes doing that can give her enough money to survive on instantly, or that the other things aren't a problem. I'm just saying, if they are..."

"You'd like some of the money set aside to help her out?"

"Yes. Maybe. If you think that's OK. I'm not saying a trust fund or anything of that nature, just to know it's there if she should need it. It would be nice to know we could help if she wanted us to."

"Yes. And thinking about it, what we do doesn't exactly come with a pension."

"No."

"And it would be nice to put a little something away for her wedding."

John's face lit up. "Yes! Oh yes it would be fantastic to give her a real dream wedding should it come up! Just one day of her life where she wouldn't have to compromise on anything! She could have whatever dress, and shoes that she never has to wear again, and flowers..." He drifted off, his face reflecting the joy of the event that was happening in his head.

Sherlock watched him for a while, smiling. After a minute or so, he cut in.

"John?"

"Mm?"

"How exactly did you not realise you were gay?"

John laughed. Sherlock poured him more wine.

oOo

They left the restaurant about an hour later, feeling happy and relaxed. They'd made some plans and discussed some charitable causes and agreed that Scarlet should be allowed to think about places she might want to gift some money to as well. They'd also agreed that the money didn't need to be spent in one huge go, but could be left for them for times when a cause suddenly became urgent.

Sherlock found he felt quite a lot lighter knowing that John was there to guide him with this. He wished he'd told him before.

The walked, arm in arm calmly along the streets back to the house. The chatted and laughed and relaxed together, enjoying each other's body warmth in the cold night air.

Sherlock opened the door and held it open for John then followed him upstairs. It was John's habit to enter by the kitchen door whenever he got home, so that he could put the kettle on. He did so now, but instantly backed out again, muttering apologies and bumping into Sherlock.

"What? What's going on?"

John blushed. "Nothing! Nothing at all. Nothing that you'd want to witness."

"Oh you are kidding!"

"Shh! You'll wake Scarlet."

Mycroft opened the kitchen door and looked at them. John was surprised to note that he had a slight blush to his face and he looked mildly embarrassed.

"I do apologise. I didn't hear you come in."

He appeared to be having difficulty meeting Sherlock's eye, which John decided was just as well considering Sherlock was looking thunderous.

"No matter," John said. "I'll just put the kettle on shall I?" He stepped past Mycroft into the kitchen.

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock. "I'll come with you, John."

Sherlock was left standing in the hall for a moment, but then he followed them in and continued to glare at Mycroft. Lestrade was in the living room, staring out of the window. John assumed it was to hide his own blush, but as his ears were bright red, it was something of a pointless exercise.

"So... was Scarlet OK?"

"What? Oh, yes," Mycroft answered. "I'm afraid she was slightly late for bed, but we were somewhat absorbed in our game. Who taught her to play poker by the way?"

"John smiled. I taught her the basics, Sherlock taught her tells and bluffs."

"Well you were really quite effective. I owe her twenty pounds."

"No you don't, you don't have to pay her."

"I always honour my debts, John."

"Yes, and she knows she's only allowed to play for actual money. Sorry, she duped you."

"Ah. Well, perhaps that in itself deserves some reward." He smiled at them again, but paled under Sherlock's gaze.

"Do you want tea, Mycroft?"

"Coffee, if I may."

"No problem, Greg? Anything for you?"

Lestrade coughed and cleared his throat. "Actually, no thanks, I think I'd better be getting off. Work tomorrow. Thanks for a nice..." He met looked at Mycroft and struggled to finish his sentence.

"I'll come down with you and help find a cab," John said. "Finish the drinks, Mycroft.

He followed Lestrade to the street.

"Greg? Are you OK?"

"What? Yes. Yes of course. I think so." He looked up and down the road for a cab, failing to concentrate enough to see any of the three free ones that passed.

"I take it you were slightly surprised."

Greg turned to look at him. "Somewhat, yes."

"So you don't think of him that way."

"No! No, no. Look, I know this sounds stupid, but I like him. He's funny. Sometimes he doesn't mean to be, but he is funny. And... he's interesting. Yes, the fact that he can just solve any problem with a click of his fingers can be annoying after a while, but he's happy to lay off all that if you ask him too. I enjoy him being around from time to time, but..."

"Not physically."

"No."

"OK, well, it might be that you have to tell him that."

"Oh do I have to? Can't you?"

"God no, I have enough difficulty keeping one Holmes brother under control. Not tonight, but you have to explain sometime. Look here's a cab." He waved it over.

As Greg opened the door, he turned to look at John. "The thing is, it was a really nice evening up until then. But then it got... really confusing."

"It's OK, I understand. I've been there, remember. No, don't worry!" he said, as Greg suddenly looked panicked. "We're all different people and we like who and what we like. That's all it is to it. But I understand that confusion, that's what I'm saying. Anyhow, go home now and get some rest." He closed the door after him and went back inside.

He could hear the bickering as soon as he stepped off the street and he rolled his eyes at nobody in particular.

"John, he wouldn't make me coffee and I don't know how!" Mycroft complained as soon as he got into the kitchen.

"He doesn't deserve coffee." Sherlock said.

"Oh be quiet, Sherlock. You don't even know why you're cross."

"Yes I do! It's because... it's because... it's because of what _he_ just did!"

"Which was what?" John challenged him.

Sherlock glared.

"Sherlock, you're clearly having an utterly strange and ridiculous reaction because of the bizarre, unhealthy rivalry that you still have with your brother, even though you should have grown out of it some twenty odd years ago. Now take your tea and go and sit down."

He turned to face Mycroft who was looking ever so slightly smug as he watched Sherlock go and sit down with his tea. He diminished, slightly, when he noticed how angry John suddenly was.

"Mycroft, please for the love of God assure me that you didn't hear us come into the house, and that little display wasn't entirely to piss Sherlock off!"

"It... I..."

"Seriously! Mycroft you've ruddy terrified him! If you did that just because of this pathetic family war, then my God I think I might have to thump you!"

"I didn't!" Mycroft blinked quickly and in his face John saw a hint of the defensive stubbornness that Sherlock wore so well in an argument. Mostly, however, he saw panic. "I didn't mean to... upset him. I assure you John nothing could be further from my mind! I just... I fear I may have miscalculated."

"OK, well, I should find some way of explaining that miscalculation to him if I were you. Now coffee?"

"Actually, it's getting late. I must just get off. Leave, I mean."

John was surprised to see him blush for a second time in one evening, before he sharply walked out of the door.

"Mycroft!" John called after him. "Look, I'm sorry I got cross. And thank you, for babysitting tonight. We appreciate it. And I'm sorry it didn't go better for you."

Mycroft nodded and gave him a curt smile. "It's quite all right."

"I'm not sorry!" Sherlock called from the front room.

John rolled his eyes and Mycroft looked upset as he dashed down the rest of the stairs.

John went into the front room and sat down next to Sherlock, leaning against him. He wrapped Sherlock's arms around himself.

"You could be a tiny bit nice, you know," he said. "He's just been rejected."

"He'll get over it."

"Hopefully yes, but still not a very nice feeling right now."

"I don't think he has feelings. We should put him in Jane's machine and find out."

"Sherlock... how would you have felt if I'd have gone mental that Christmas morning and shoved you out the door?"

Sherlock's arms tightened around him for moment, but he didn't answer.

"There you are then," John said.

"Why didn't you?" Sherlock asked him.

John thought about it. "I actually don't know. I didn't want to I suppose."

"What were you're exact thoughts though? I've often wondered what went through your head when you woke up to find me there. I mean, you must have known I was in the flat, but I could have left you when you were calm and gone to sleep on the sofa. That must have been what you would have expected, but you woke up and found me there, with you. And if I recall correctly, the enormity of my... desire for you was quite evident."

"Yes, indeed, it was an enormous desire."

Sherlock smiled. "So what did go through your head at that moment."

John thought about it. "If I'm entirely honest, what when through my head was an awful lot of panicked voices saying such things as 'Oh no!' and 'why now?' and 'this isn't good at all!' and 'how the hell do I get out of this?' all in a big jumble. Then there was a second that I thought you were going to leave, and suddenly I, well, my body wanted to cling onto you. All of you, not just the enormous desire part."

Sherlock smiled and held him closely again.

"I can tell you what my second thought was though," John told him.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked in a low voice, taking the opportunity to nibble at John's ear.

"Oh fuck it, why not?"

Sherlock stopped nibbling for a moment and frowned. "Hm. Romantic."

"You don't do romance, remember? And I have to admit, among all the other turmoil and confusion, there was a small part of me that was curious about the enormity of your desire."

Sherlock smiled again. "Not that small, I would say."

John smiled at him then kissed him for a moment. "No. I have to admit, there's a part of me that's curious about how much you desire me right now."

"Oh, I think we can work out the answer to that quite soon."

* * *

**Soooo, did, Mycroft use and abuse Lestrade there? In my mind, it was a genuine mistake. But I could be being hopelessly naive? Or maybe it wasn't a mistake at all? Who knows which direction I'm going to take the two of them in? Because I sure as hell don't.**

**Anyhow, please let me know, and please also review if any other parts of this sprang out for you.**

**Pip xxx.**


	31. Violins

**Thanks for all your thoughts and feelings on the Mycroft/Lestrade pairing. I listened to all of them and pondered some some of them (both IreneNorton and MyriadProBold suggested that they were already a secret couple, but in denial, trying to hide things, then staging the 'moment' to throw Sherlock off the scent, which is a marvellous idea!). However, in the end I decided to go with what I was going to anyway. Sorry! I hope you all enjoy it non-the-less.**

**

* * *

**_A month or so after Date Night._

John and Sherlock squatted down behind a sofa. There was a window with drawn curtains behind them, and the cavity between the sofa and the wall was just large enough to fit three grown men.

"Are you sure this is the best hiding place?" John asked. "They'd only have to have a quick glance and they'd see we were here."

"We don't need to hide for long; just long enough for them to think the room is empty and come in."

"I still think if one of us was closer to the door, we'd be able to contain them like some sort of pincer formation."

"No, this is fine. Besides which, you have your gun, that tends to focus people quite quickly. You do have your gun don't you?"

"Yes of course I do."

"Can I have it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Sherlock, we've been over this before. I'm a better shot. You're lucky if you can hit a barn from six feet away."

"That's an exaggeration. Besides which, you're eyes are getting old. You can't see without your glasses."

"I only need them for close up! I can see fine beyond about four feet."

"What if they come closer?"

"Then I'll shoot at the fuzzy, humanoid shape that's stood four feet from me."

"What if it's me?"

"Then my evening would be made infinitely better for having shot my extremely irritating husband. Or you could just give me a signal."

"What sort of signal."

"I don't know. Hoot like an owl."

"Do what?"

"Or say 'Don't shoot, it's Sherlock'."

"I'll probably do that one."

"Where's Lestrade? I thought you said he was meeting us here."

"I told him to be here a bit later. That reminds me my Mother gave me my first violin when I was three. Father taught me how to play it. He made me practise for three hours every day for four years. When I'd got good, he threw the violin at a wall and told me that I couldn't I have another one until I was more brilliant than Mycroft."

John blinked for a while and absorbed this.

"That wasn't very nice of him," he finally said.

"No. I thought it probably wasn't. On the other hand, I thought that as inspirational talks go, the set up for that one was quite dedicated. You've got to admire the man's patience."

"Yeeeeees."

"You disagree."

"I'm wondering why you're telling me this now."

"You asked me to. We agreed on one anecdote per week."

"No, I mean, did this specific moment seem the most appropriate time for your one parental anecdote this week?"

"Yes. I told Lestrade to meet us here at eight ten specifically so that I'd have twenty minutes to discuss this with you. I thought that way you wouldn't have time to ask me lots of annoying questions about it."

"OK."

They fell silent as they heard the sound of calm footfalls crossing the room. A third man dropped down behind the sofa with them.

"Evening, Lestrade," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock. John," he responded. "Are you sure he'll be here?"

"Eight thirty. He'll be here."

"If he's not arriving until eight thirty, why did you ask me to come here at eight ten."

"Because then John would be distracted away from my violin story, because he'd much rather know about you and Mycroft."

"Sherlock," John said, "did you arrange this whole evening so that we could have a number of difficult conversations in the least amount of time?"

"Yes. Though to be fair, there is going to be a fraudster arriving in twenty minutes so even if we just sit here in silence it won't be a wasted evening."

"I vote for silence," Lestrade said."

"Me too," Sherlock replied.

They were silent for about five seconds.

"So, Greg, have you spoken to Mycroft at all?" John asked.

Sherlock and Lestrade quietly sighed.

"Sorry," John said. "We don't have to talk about this if you don't want. None of my business really."

"No, it's not," Sherlock agreed.

There was another five seconds of silence.

"So, have you seen him recently?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, he's with Scarlet now," John answered.

"Oh. How is he?"

"He's fine," Sherlock told him.

"He's down," John said.

"Really?" Lestrade asked.

"No, not really," Sherlock told him. "I don't know what John's talking about."

"No, he's down."John repeated. "He's... reserved."

"He's _Mycroft_, he's always reserved." Sherlock pointed out. "It's what he does."

"No, this is more than that. He didn't even respond when you called him a stuck up old bureaucrat with a broom up his bum."

"Maybe he's seen the truth of that statement."

"No, he's down. He's not normal." John insisted.

"Well he's Mycroft..."

"No, I mean, not normal for Mycroft. Anyway, Greg, haven't you spoken to him?"

"No _spoken_, no." Lestrade answered.

"Oh, Greg, what did you do?"

"I may have waited a few days, ignoring his calls and texts, the called him one evening to shout at him a bit. While I was drunk."

"Oh. Well how did that go."

"I don't remember. I just remember the shouting."

"Why didn't you just talk to him?"

"I didn't know what to say! Then a couple of days later, when I'd had a few, it occurred to me that the whole thing might have been an elaborate set up just to annoy Sherlock."

"It took you a couple of days and a few drinks to work that out?" Sherlock said. "John got there before you'd even got the end of the road that night."

"So you think it's true?" Lestrade asked.

"Probably," Sherlock answered.

"No!" John insisted. "I asked him and he said no. I'm sure not."

"Are you sure you're sure?"

"Yes I am."

"I think John sees Mycroft threw rose tinted glasses sometimes," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, I've been offered a knighthood," Lestrade told him.

"There you go!" John told him. "That's clearly an apology."

"So, I didn't earn it then."

"Oh of course you did, it's just... it's just..."

"No, you didn't earn it," Sherlock said. "Mycroft likes to hand them out like sweeties to his friends. Everyone I know has been offered one."

They were silent for a while.

"Wait a minute," John said, "I've never been offered one!"

"Well maybe Mycroft doesn't like you." Sherlock answered.

"No, I'm sure that's not true," John replied.

Sherlock grinned.

They fell silent again and Sherlock looked at his watch. When he didn't speak, the other two took it as a signal that time was nearly up.

A few minutes later they heard someone approaching. They were talking quietly either to a companion or on their phone. Sherlock listened carefully for a moment, then held two fingers up for Lestrade. Lestrade nodded. They all held their breath, but only for a moment before they heard the men enter the room, and sit down on the sofa, just in front of them.

Sherlock wasted no time, but nodded curtly, and he and Lestrade leapt up, and both put their arms over the shoulders of the two men, pinning them down. John almost followed, but then yelped, cursed and fell to the floor, grabbing at his leg. Sherlock gave him a quick glance.

"Cramp," John explained.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Mr James Grantham I assume?" He said to the person he was restraining. "And your companion must be Edward Learner. No, hold still!" he said, as they struggled a moment, "there's a gun pointing at your back."

James Grantham frowned a moment. "How? You're both unarmed."

John cocked the gun and at the sound the two men quietened again. Sherlock slipped his hand into the shirt pocket of his captive, and removed a phone and a memory stick. He handed them to Lestrade who pocketed them.

"Right, Mister James Grantham, I am arresting you..."

Sherlock released him as Lestrade took over to arrest and handcuff him. He looked down at John who was still curled up on the floor, rubbing at his leg. The cocked gun was on the floor by his arm and Sherlock picked it up and disabled it.

"Need a hand up, Old Man?" Sherlock asked.

"Sod off," John grumbled, but taking Sherlock's hand and hoisting himself up. "You're getting old too." He took the gun back and pocketed it.

John's and Sherlock's phone's beeped in unison. It was a text from Mycroft.

_'Something's wrong with Scarlet."_

They both hit 'dial' and John got connected first. Sherlock huffed for a second, but John switched to speaker.

"I can't talk just now," Mycroft answered.

"Why? What's happening, what's going on?" Sherlock asked him.

Mycroft sighed. "Fine, just a moment."

They listened to the sound of him walking down the phone, and the sound of a scuffle followed by Lestrade telling the captives to settle down. "My apologies," Mycroft said as he started talking again. "I didn't want to talk about her in front of her."

"What are you talking about, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"Mycroft, what do you mean something's wrong with her?" John asked. "Is it a migraine? Has she had a seizure?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"She's crying."

"Why, what have you done to her?" Sherlock demanded. He blocked out the sound of someone behind him demanding his solicitor and making claims about the marital status of Lestrade's parents.

"Nothing! I don't think I've done anything, but she's been quietly crying on and off all afternoon. She's mostly stayed in her room but I've been checking on her regularly. I think she was trying to hide it."

"So why didn't you call before?" Sherlock shouted.

"No, don't worry, Mycroft, we're on our way home," John told him and hung up.

They turned back to Lestrade who was now holding James Grantham against the wall as he struggled. Edward Learner appeared to have accepted his fate and was sat quietly on the sofa, not saying a word.

"Need any help?" Sherlock asked him.

"No, no I'm fine," Lestrade answered, trying to keep his hold.

"Jolly good," Sherlock answered, trying to leave. John held him back.

"We'll wait until back up arrives," John said.

"But Scarlet..." Sherlock said to him.

"It'll be a couple of minutes. It's fine." He started biting at his thumb nail. Sherlock didn't push him.

"Oh, Lestrade," Sherlock said. "We keep forgetting, John wants to invite you to Christmas lunch."

"Oh. Nice. Thanks." Lestrade answered.

"Sherlock would like you there too," John told him.

"Right. Fine. When is it?"

"Twenty-fifth of December is traditional," Sherlock told him.

"OK then. Yes, I'd love to."

"Mycroft will be there." John told him. "Just so you know."

"Oh. Right. We'll see then."

Uniformed police came into the room and John and Sherlock said their goodbyes.

"You know you'd have more chance of him coming if you hadn't told him Mycroft would be there," Sherlock told John.

"Yeah, but it's not the way I do things. I don't like manipulation. Now, the violin..."

oOo

They sat in the cab together.

"So, when did you get the violin back?"

"Hm? Oh, I don't know. I was grown up."

"Well, it's clearly important to you, so I don't believe you've forgotten. What happened to prove you were better than Mycroft?"

Sherlock sighed and lent is mouth against his fingers.

"Firstly, Mummy gave me another one when I was at school. She had it delivered there with a note and I had strict instructions to leave it with the music teacher during holidays."

"That was a nice thing for her to do."

"Yes. Mummy could be reasonable at times. I'd have liked to have taken it home though. It would have made the holidays slightly more bearable. Anyhow, that was violin number two. I grew out of it eventually and it was left with the school. Violin number three, father gave me."

"When? What happened?"

Another sigh. "I got angry with him one holiday. Must have been just before University. He'd been seeing another woman and had been for some time. I announced it one dinnertime in front of a number of his colleagues."

"And he rewarded you for that?"

"Not immediately. There was something of a fight between me and him and it sort of... got said. I remember Mycroft having to take Mummy away and later he was cross and told me I should just have let things lie. Father left, well, he couldn't do much else at that point. Later he came to visit me when I'd just settled at Cambridge and he gave me the violin. He told me that Mycroft would never have done anything to upset the equilibrium and he was proud of me. He gave me violin number three then, and I took it out of his case and flung it against the wall. I didn't see him again."

Sherlock turned to face John. "You know what I find peculiar?" he said. "I still look back at all those hours of practise and lessons with him, and I remember them fondly. It really was the best time that we had together, and even though he was in every other way a shit of the highest order, he was very calm and patient with me when we were practising. I'd like to experience that again. I know you're sometimes jealous of me playing music with Scarlet, but, I really enjoy it. It makes me wonder if he'd ever actually enjoyed any part of that time with me. When we were practising together. Or maybe he was just sat there bored, biding his time, ready to use it all against me."

"I can't imagine him going through it if he wasn't getting anything out of it, Sherlock." John told him.

"Mm."

"So how many violins have there actually been?"

Sherlock smiled. "Just the four."

"So where did number four come from?"

"Mycroft. He told me he'd bought it to keep me out of trouble."

"And how well did that work?"

Sherlock grinned. "What do you think?"

They were nearing Baker Street when they got another text from Mycroft.

_'Migraine.'_

John swore and Sherlock sighed. They reached their home and leapt out.

They could hear Scarlet before they see her and they quickened their pace up the last flight of stairs. Mycroft was backing out of her bedroom with a faint look of disgust on his face.

"For heaven's sake, Mycroft, it's just a bit of vomit," Sherlock grumbled as he pushed past him into Scarlet's darkened room.

Mycroft watched as Sherlock rubbed her back gently, making soothing noises, then handed her tissues and water. A few seconds later and she had buried her face against his chest and was sobbing.

"Here, give me that," John said, gesturing at the basin and he took it away. Mycroft continued to watch Sherlock.

"Shhhh," Sherlock whispered, rocking her slightly. "It's OK, it's just a migraine, sweetheart, you'll feel better soon."

"No, no," she sobbed and pulled away for a moment to look at him. "No. This is... is me now. This is me... forever."

Sherlock pulled her back towards him. "Shhhh. We'll see Scarlet. I think we'll wait and see."

He turned and saw Mycroft staring at him and he glared, holding Scarlet tighter. John came back with cleaned basin.

"Do you want me to take over?" he asked Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head. "OK. I'll make you some tea and check what pain meds she can have. Mycroft, do you want coffee?"

"I don't want to put you out."

"No, it's no trouble. Come downstairs."

John put the kettle on and pulled a plastic tub down from one of the cupboards. Mycroft watched as John checked in a small notebook that was in the box. He looked up.

"How many days ago was the ninth of November?"

"Twenty-seven," Mycroft answered.

"Bugger. She can't have these then," he dropped a small packet back in. "Ibuprofen it is then. Can you pop these upstairs? OK, don't worry, do the tea and I'll take them."

He dashed upstairs and was back quite quickly. Mycroft looked up at him.

"The kettle stopped so I poured the water in the cups."

"Good. Well done. Do you want me to take over?"

"No, I can do this! Do I put the milk in before or after I take the teabags out?"

"Have you stirred them?"

"No, stirring... stirring," He opened and closed various cupboards and drawers until he found a teaspoon. He looked triumphant, stirred the tea and pulled out the teabag. He watched it drip for a moment.

"Bin's just there," John told him.

"Ah yes. Bin." Mycroft dropped the teabags into the bin and poured in the milk. "Look! Tea!"

John grinned at him. "Well done, Mycroft. I'll take Sherlock's up. You stay here, I want to talk to you."

The look of triumph slid from Mycroft's face but he did as instructed. When John got back as second time, Mycroft was looking through the tub of medication.

"Are all of these for Scarlet?"

"Yes. Well, sometimes we borrow paracetamol or ibuprofen from there, but they're replaced. The rest are hers though." He sat down at the table and started cataloguing the pills for Mycroft. "These ones are for her epilepsy, she has two three times a day. The school have their own pack. If you ever need to pick her up at lunchtime, you'll need to check whether they've already given them or not."

"Pick her up? Why would I..."

"It might never come up, but now you know for if it does. We'll have to switch her at some point and she'll be on something else."

"Why?"

"She can't take these when she's of childbearing age."

"But she's only eleven!"

"Now she is, but she won't be forever." He pulled out some more medication. "She gets vertigo sometimes, and if that happens she can have these ones for up to a week. If it goes on after that we either have to stop, or have her admitted to hospital. These, these and these are all for pain. These ones are great, but she can only have one every thirty days..."

"Does she have migraines more often than that?"

"Sometimes. Once we had a three month break with nothing. It was marvellous. Other times it's every couple of weeks. It's a pain because if it's one of the ones like today's where she's sick with it, she sometimes can't keep the seizure medication down. Sometimes it's fine and she sails through, other times she'll have a fit. Just depends."

"Why are you telling me all of this, John?"

"I know you know what to do if she seizes but there's all the rest of it too. Oh and you need to remember that if you give her anything, you write down the time and date in the book so the next person knows."

"Fine. I'll write it down. John, what is this about?"

"Mycroft, I was under the impression that you wanted to help. That you wanted to be included."

"I do. Of course I do."

"Then you need to understand."

"I think I'm beginning to."

"It's not a game, Mycroft. It's not for me, and it's not for him, and it's sure as hell not for her. Sometimes I think you want to be a part of this and that's great, honestly it is, but I need to know that you understand it's not something... _she's_ not something you can just make believe with and put away when she's become inconvenient."

"No."

"I'm not saying that there's not good stuff too. There is, there's loads of it, but it's not a game. People, _any_ people, aren't toys for you to experiment with and play with."

"No."

"And there's something else I want to say while I have you captive."

"What's that?" He looked slightly wary.

"Thank you for the violin."

"What?"

"I think he appreciates it more than he's told you. Probably more than he knows."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome. And so is he."

"And another thing..."

"God, what now?"

"Can Sherlock play the piano?"

"What? Um, yes I think so. Yes, he'll certainly have played at school."

"So probably well enough to accompany an eleven year old guitar player and perhaps teach her some of the basics too."

"Yes. Yes I'm sure of it. Scarlet has an ear for music. Sherlock's mentioned before, I know she prefers the drawing but she seems quick to learn with that sort of thing."

"Yes, I thought so too. I mean, it's not like she needs to be world class or anything. Just have the ability to play a few duets with her Dad should she want to. So will you help me with that? Because I know sod all about pianos. I mean, how much do they cost?"

"Oh, well, anything from a couple of hundred for something second hand up to thirty or forty thousand for a quality upright. I'm assuming you'll want an upright."

John swallowed a mouthful of tea. "OK, well, that's slightly more quality than I can afford, but lets say a couple of thousand maybe? Something smallish that we can have delivered here at some point without him noticing..."

"John it's a piano. He'd notice if you bought him a tie-pin and tried to hide it."

"OK, well not hide. But at least let's surprise him until it's actually delivered."

"Fine. I'm happy to help." Mycroft sipped at his coffee for a while. "Is Inspector Lestrade quite well?" he asked quietly.

"He's fine, Mycroft. Confused but fine. I think he's slightly wary of you right now."

"Yes."

"But I suspect he'd take your call if you were to try again. If you were to suggest meeting for breakfast like you used to, he might well say yes."

"Yes. I don't intend to toy with him, John. That wasn't my intention. But I admit that I may have been swept away by the moment. We'd had a nice evening, the two of us with Scarlet. I just found that there was a moment when I didn't want it to end. She's very... she's utterly charming isn't she?"

"Er, sometimes..."

"No, she was lovely that evening. She laughed a lot, and it was nice. Greg kept telling her jokes and she kept laughing and the two of them fleeced me at cards. Then she went up to bed and then you two were coming home, and I didn't want it to end. I'm not sure I want anything more from Greg than for him to occasionally have breakfast or afternoon tea with me and perhaps occasionally dinner. I'm just not sure how to make that clear."

"Jumping on him probably wasn't the way forward."

"No."

Mycroft blushed and John hid his grin in his cup of tea.

John finished his tea. "Mycroft, would it bother you if Lestrade found someone else?"

"Oh no, not at all! I suspect his judgement would be good enough to ensure that any partner would be delightful."

"So they could join you at your breakfast, tea and dinner?"

"Oh yes. I'm beginning to think that more people is better than fewer."

John smiled. "Well then, Mycroft, I hope it works out for you and for him. And you know you're more than welcome to visit here as long as you're prepared to accept that it might be chaos."

"Are you sure? I suspect that Sherlock might have a slightly less accommodating."

"Sherlock's views will be listened too, taken notice of, and promptly ignored. By me anyway. And I'm sure you can rise above it all."

"Certainly."

"Good. Right, I'm kicking you out now. Thank you very much for babysitting, Mycroft. It was actually really good fun being on a case again! But I need to spell Sherlock for a bit, and one of us is going to end up sleeping in with Scarlet just in case, so it would be nice to have some evening together. She probably doesn't want to come downstairs while you're here."

"Why on earth?"

"Well, she's a nearly twelve year old girl, and she probably doesn't want to spend the evening lying on the sofa and trying not to throw up in front of her uncle. The look on your face, Mycroft! When she's comfortable enough to think, she's going to think she's terrified you."

"I'll call her tomorrow and make it clear that she hasn't."

"Good idea. Text though, nearly twelve year old girls also don't like to have many phone conversations with their uncles."

"Understood. Thank you."

"No, thank you, Mycroft. For the babysitting, for the violin, for the help with the piano... Actually, you'll probably want to leave now before I get all weepy and huggy."

Mycroft smiled at him, gathered his umbrella, and left.


	32. Christmas Presents

**Hi. I think this one should carry some sort of warning, but I can't quite tell what sort of warning it should carry. Er. This one might make you cringe a bit a couple of times. But hopefully it might make you laugh and relate too. Pip.  
**

**

* * *

**_A week or so after the last one. But also, conveniently, the Saturday before Christmas (sorry, time-line still not sorted out.)_

John and Sherlock were settled comfortably on the sofa late in the evening. They'd had a busy day. Scarlet had protested about the lack of decoration in the flat and had set about making snow-flakes for the window first thing in the morning. Before long she'd infected both of the others with the holiday feeling and she and John had made epic lengths of paper-chains, and just after lunchtime, Sherlock went off to buy a Christmas Tree and the three of them spent the afternoon trying to keep a wildly excited Scout under control and stop her from attacking the baubles.

After that, they had surprised her with tickets to see the Nutcracker at the Royal Opera House and they'd gone and been danced at for several hours, and returned home exhausted. Scarlet had gone to bed, John was just finishing his blog entry and answering some email, and Sherlock was sat on the sofa, waiting for John to be ready to go to bed. His knees were bent as he leant back and he was digging his toes beneath John's thighs for warmth.

"John, I was wondering if I could have a week off next week," Sherlock said.

"A week off from what? Did you want to go somewhere? Because it would be nice if you could at least be here on Christmas Day." John didn't look up from the screen, his forehead screwed in concentration as he typed with two fingers.

"No, don't be silly, of course not. I want a week off from the parental anecdotes."

"Oh. Yeah. OK then."

"Thank you."

"Do you think they're helping at all?"

"Mm. Sort of. It's made me realise that there's one that I know I need to talk to you about, but I really don't want to. I'm finding it a struggle thinking of others so I can avoid that one."

John had turned to look at him now. "That doesn't sound good."

"No, I know. And I know you'll want to ask me about it and needle at me now, and that's why I'm asking for next week off. I want one week where I don't have to worry that it's going to come up. I just want a nice, relaxed Christmas."

"OK. That's fine." He smiled at him.

"It could be your Christmas present to me."

John hesitated for a second. "OK then."

"No! Wait a minute! You've already got me something, haven't you!" Sherlock sat up, excited.

John gave a slight smile, then shook his head. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"No I won't! I bet I can guess! Shall I guess?"

"No. Just wait and don't spoil the surprise."

"It must be something... well you haven't got it here, because I would have noticed. So it's either at a shop, waiting to be delivered, or you've asked someone else to store it for you. Wouldn't be Greg or Mycroft because you'd know that I'd guess, Mike? No... Mycroft! Really? I'm sure I can get it out of him..." He reached for his phone.

"Stop it Sherlock! You'll find out when I find out!"

"But I want to know _now_."

"And yet you'll have to wait."

Sherlock sighed but put his phone down. John went back to his email. A few minutes passed.

"John, I'm worried about Scarlet."

"Well yes, we all are."

"Yes but that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Actually, it is a bit what I mean. I think... Do you get the impression that she's given up slightly?"

John stopped typing and looked at him. "In what sense."

"She said to me that it's forever. In fact, she's said it a couple of times to me lately. I think she's suddenly beginning to realise that this is all a bit permanent and she's sort of given up trying to get better or even just live with how she is now. She doesn't like it."

"Well who would?"

"I know. I know that, I'd hate it if it was me. But I always thought Scarlet was a bit more optimistic than I am. She always has been too, it's taken her over a year to get to this stage, but there's something going on with her now. She's moody. She's crying at random things on random occasions. It wasn't just that day with Mycroft when god alone knows what he's said to her, but she's been that way with me too. And she can't tell me why. Not just because of the aphasia, she just shrugs or shakes her head. Then half an hour later she's fine again."

"Yes I've noticed that too."

"So you think there might be some new complication?"

"No. Actually I think it's quite normal for a girl of her age."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why don't you sit there and have a little think about it."

Sherlock did so, while watching John with narrowed eyes. John happily typed away. All of a sudden Sherlock startled and stared at him.

"No! No, no, she's far to young for puberty!"

"Not for the start of it she isn't."

"God, but that's... horrible!"

"Horrible?"

"Yes! She's a _child_ for Christ's sake! She's not even close to being old enough to get messed up with all of that!"

"OK, well I think it might be better if you started looking at it as a normal, natural process that happens to everybody rather than something horrible and messed up. That's not going to help either one of you get through it."

"But... no! John, she's got far too much to contend with right now!"

"It's not a choice. You've reminded I need to get provisions for her though."

"Oh no! No, no no!"

"They're just periods, Sherlock."

"But she hasn't... she hasn't had one yet, has she?"

"I don't think so. But if she has and she's hiding it from us, you'd know quicker than me, so what do you think?"

Sherlock blushed deeply. "I refuse to think about it."

"Well, one of us should perhaps have a chat with her. And I'm beginning to think it shouldn't be you."

"Absolutely not."

"Sherlock, she might choose to discuss it with you. You're very close now, not in an 'oh you've usurped me and I'm jealous' way, just in the sense that you're close, and you have a different relationship with her than I do, and she might prefer to talk to you. If she does so, do you think you can try not to behave like a silly old woman?"

"I... I..."

"Actually, maybe she needs a silly old woman for this."

"Yes. Let's ask Mrs Hudson."

"I was kidding Sherlock. But you do need to calm down about it. It's normal and natural."

Sherlock huffed.

"That's the way," John muttered.

"But... but don't you think it's an awfully big assumption? She does have other stuff going on, and it's all very well saying 'it's just puberty', when it turns out she's just struggling with the illness and we haven't bothered about it."

"OK, well for one thing I haven't said there's anything 'just' about puberty, and yes, I think she is beginning to think about the brain stuff long term, but I think that's all mixed up with all of it. Like last week when she didn't want us in her bed after the last migraine, but then she got up worried in the night and came into our room. She's completely confused about what she wants and doesn't want and where her space is and how much she ought to be coping with on her own. She's probably wondering about boyfriends and girlfriends and whether she'll be allowed to go on dates if she might suddenly have a fit or a migraine and how she'll deal with that if we're not there..."

"She's not allowed to date."

"Yes she is, Sherlock. But what I'm saying is that she suddenly wants to have control over her life and because of her specific circumstances she knows she might not be allowed that control."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "No, I think we need to be clear about the fact that she's not allowed to date."

John grinned. "Come on, Sherlock..."

"No, I know, I know. Of course she should be allowed her freedom, but... I'd like it noted that I really, _really_ don't like the idea."

"OK. Noted."

"And I'd like to remind you that last time she was allowed any sort of freedom she climbed the house."

"I know. But please, Sherlock, do you think you can try to realign the idea in your overworked and weary brain so that it's not something awful but something normal? And at the end of it, she'll be a grown up. She'll be an adult and hopefully not one that wants to continue to spend time with us occasionally."

Sherlock rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "No, no I can't do it. I can't think that far ahead. I cannot envisage a time when she doesn't live here with us."

John snorted and patted Sherlock's legs for a moment. "I'm sorry, honey, but it's a reality we do have to face."

"But not today. Put your computer away. I need cuddles."

John laughed but did so. He was just heading along the sofa when they heard the front door bang and footsteps coming up the stairs. John stayed still, looking into the hallway as Mycroft came into view carrying a wrapped, mid-sized box.

"Er, good evening, Mycroft." John said. Sherlock groaned.

"Good evening, John. Sherlock." He nodded at them curtly and came to sit down on an armchair.

John glanced at Sherlock, then accepted fate and sat back again.

Sherlock huffed. "What the hell are you doing here, Mycroft?"

"John said I was welcome any time."

"Yes I did," John said to Sherlock's scowl. "And while that's true, Mycroft, generally it's considered politer to call first."

"No, it's fine. I told you I accept the chaos and I do."

"Or you could, I don't know, ring the doorbell or something."

"But then you'd have to get up. No, this is much better. Now, I need to ask you about Scarlet's Christmas present."

"Good," Sherlock answered. "Because I need to ask you what John's bought me."

"No, brother dear, John entrusted me with the secret and I intend to carry it with me to the grave."

"You're intending to die before next Wednesday?" John asked him.

"Ah-ha!" Sherlock said, "So whatever it is, it's going to be arriving next Wednesday? So it needs delivering, you've arranged a time that's as close to Christmas as possible ... so why did you need Mycroft's input if it wasn't to keep the gift at his flat? It's something that he has knowledge about that you don't..."

"Sherlock, shut up," John told him.

"You should too, John," Mycroft said. "I strongly recommend that you say nothing more about the subject at all."

"OK then, and I strongly recommend that you call or ring the doorbell before you visit next time, so that you don't walk in on us having sex."

Mycroft gave him a look. "I really don't think that's likely, John."

"For someone who allegedly notices everything, you really can be quite oblivious at times." John told him.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat for a moment. "Anyway, I had an idea for a gift for Scarlet but Inspector Lestrade suggested I should run it by you before buying it."

"He's talking to you again then," Sherlock said.

"Clearly. And though I can't understand why there would be a problem, he seemed quite insistent that it's the sort of thing that you might like to veto."

"OK, well what is it?" John asked.

"I'd like to buy her a horse."

"No." The other two chorused.

Mycroft's face fell. "Why-ever not? She's mentioned that she wants one."

"Yes, but she doesn't actually want one," John told him. "She likes the idea and the romance but the reality of having a large, expensive to maintain animal that she's responsible for... well, I suspect she wouldn't actually be prepared to focus her attention on it."

"Besides which," Sherlock put in, "if anyone's buying her a horse, it will be me."

"But it won't be, because she isn't getting one. Look, it's a lovely idea, Mycroft, but she already wants to spend all her time doing nothing but art and playing the guitar. I'm not convinced that she'd be prepared to sacrifice either of those things so that she can take care of a horse. You wouldn't want to buy her something that she ends up resenting in a couple of months, would you?"

Mycroft looked despondent. "But I want to buy her something really good."

John smiled. "That's lovely, but she'll like whatever you buy her."

"What are you getting her?"

"A Fender American Deluxe Stratocaster in Olympic-white-pearl and rosewood." Sherlock told him.

"Oo, nice."

"And some headphones," John added.

"Wise."

"So... beat that if you can!" Sherlock said with a smile.

"Don't be silly, Sherlock, it's not a competition," John told him. "Anyway, what's in the box if it's not Scarlet's present?"

"Oh, this is for you," Mycroft said, handing it over. "I remember what you said the other day, about Scarlet starting to get embarrassed about her illness, and I thought it might be prudent for you to open this when she wasn't about."

John frowned and took the box feeling slightly concerned. Sherlock leaned over to watch as he unwrapped it. When John had got inside, he covered his mouth and blinked back tears.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked him.

"It's a bed monitor. We put it under the bed-sheets and it detects whether Scarlet's having a seizure. It alerts us."

"Is it OK?" Mycroft asked, watching John's reaction, warily.

"Yes. Yes it's perfect Mycroft, thank you. It really is. Sorry." He wiped his eyes. "No, I really am sorry," he said, when Mycroft frowned. "This... I've been thinking of one for a while, especially now she's getting older but I didn't want to buy one because... well, because it sort of feels like if I gave in an buy one myself, I'm accepting that this is long term."

"That's utterly illogical," Mycroft told him. "But if it concerns you, I'm happy to send it back."

"No, no not at all!" John told him. "It is illogical, and it is long term. We know that now and I'm just being silly. Besides, this was a gift and it would be silly not to use it now we've got it."

Mycroft started to relax. "Good."

"And we were just talking about Scarlet needing a bit more privacy. This helps a lot with that. Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome, John."

"John thinks Scarlet's approaching puberty," Sherlock complained at Mycroft. He lay back again and dug his feet under John's leg again.

"Well, here's hoping she copes with it better than you did," Mycroft answered.

John laughed at Sherlock's glowering face. "OK, well I think we're getting to the bottom of Sherlock's excessive reaction to the subject. I thought it was just that she's growing up."

"It _is_ just that she's growing up!" Sherlock said.

"He was horrendous, John. I've never seen anything like it."

"Well I'm sure you were just a delight the whole time," Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh I'm sure I had my moments, but mostly I just hid in my room or the library. You were... volatile."

"What did he do?" John asked.

"Oh, any number of things. I don't think it was quite as bad when he was away at school, he seemed to have some way of controlling himself then. At home it was awful though. I remember Mummy called me home once because he'd broken every window in the house. We had them mended of course, then two days later he broke them all again. Walking round the house with a billiard's cue and smashing at each window with a god-awful roar. We had to get double glazing installed in a nineteenth-century manor-house just to prevent him doing it again."

"OK, well, that's an extreme reaction." John agreed. "The breaking the windows I mean, not the double glazing."

"He's an extreme person. Well, I suppose you know, don't you. Imagine him as he is at his worst now, but distilled and magnified to the power of fifty, and continuously for about four years."

John looked down at Sherlock who had covered his face with his arms. He leant forward and hugged Sherlock's legs, gently kissing his kneecaps.

Sherlock moved his arms and glared at Mycroft. "You have to go away now."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at him. "Have I touched a nerve?"

John looked across at him. "Actually, you do need to go home now, Mycroft, but I'm sure we'll see you again soon. And certainly for Christmas lunch."

"One o'clock sharp."

"Yes. Actually, you should pop in on Wednesday. And thank you for the gift. It is perfect, thank you."

"And you're sure about the horse?"

"We are."

"Fine, well then, back to the drawing board then."

"Actually, you could just buy her a drawing board. She'd quite like that."

Mycroft stopped for a moment, then he nodded slowly. "Not a bad idea, John. Good bye."

John watched him leave, then looked back at Sherlock, who still appeared to be quite sulky.

"Are you OK?" John asked him.

"Yes. No. It was a horrible time. It was awful. I'd like Scarlet to avoid it if possible."

"Well it isn't possible. It might not be as bad for her though. It wasn't that bad for me. It was fairly normal. Not great, but as these things go, it could have been worse."

"Mm. I still don't like the idea though."

"Come on," John said to him, "let's go up to bed."

oOo

The next two days passed without incident. On Tuesday an event happened which suddenly put Mycroft's gift to John in a whole new light. Sherlock was with John in the kitchen, watching John peel potatoes and generally annoying him. They suddenly looked up as a strange, piecing noise started up from the floor above them.

"What's that?" John said, frowning.

Realisation dawned on Sherlock's face and he leapt up and ran up the stairs. "It's the bed alarm!" he called to John.

John stayed where he was, but continued to listen in case he was needed. There was a sudden scream from Scarlet, the sound of stammered apologies from Sherlock, then the alarm was switched off and Sherlock returned. He sat down at the table and stared at something in front of him, blushing so hard he was almost crying.

"Is she OK?" John asked him.

"She's fine," Sherlock answered.

"But she screamed."

"She's not having a fit. Must have been an error or something." He continued to blush, not moving to look at John.

John frowned for a moment, then he realised what had happened. "Oh shit," he said. "I hadn't thought about that. Didn't cross my mind at all."

"No."

"Oh don't be a prude, Sherlock."

"I'm not. We need to remove the alarm and burn it."

"No. We need to talk to Scarlet though." He looked at Sherlock. "_I_ need to talk to Scarlet. You need to stay here and concentrate on breathing. Seriously, there's heat radiating from your face. Calm down."

John climbed the stairs and knocked on Scarlet's door. She didn't answer but he could hear her sobbing.

"Scarlet? Are you OK?"

"Go! Go!" she called through the door.

"No. Can I come in?" She didn't answer so he opened her door. Scarlet was lying face down on her bed, crying into her pillow.

"Scarlet? Come and talk to me."

"No! I hate! Hate!" She sat up and started throwing her bedding onto the floor. "He _told_ you!"

"No he didn't, I just guessed. Stop it, Scarlet. Come on now."

"No!" She turned to try to hit him but he caught her wrist and held it there. She drooped and cried.

"Come on now, it's fine. You're OK." He pulled her into a hug.

"No. I hate... all... hate..."

"Scarlet, settle down." John held her gently by the shoulders and bent down to look at her in the face. "Scarlet, you are hardly the first person in the world to have their parents walk in on them. I'm sorry it happened, but it happened. It's not a big deal if you don't make it into one." He wondered whether he could convince Sherlock about this. He certainly couldn't convince Scarlet and she stamped her foot and shook her head and continued to cry.

"OK, come on, sit down a second." She allowed herself to be led and they sat down on the bed. He listened to her gulp and sniff as he tried to work out what to say to her. "OK, now look, we're in a strange situation. I want to say we can get you a lock for your door, but we can't because sometimes Sherlock and I need to be able to get in here. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. We can, and we will get rid of the bed alarm if you want..."

"I do!"

"Well OK, but that means that Sherlock and I will have to go back to checking on you regularly. Are you OK with that?"

She shook her head.

"Well it seems we need to find a way of compromising. Because we can't simply leave you alone and not know whether you're OK."

"Don't care."

"Yes you do. You don't want us bothering you all the time. I know you don't want us making up excuses to come up here once an hour because you've told me it irritates you. And you don't want us checking on you several times a night either, and the point of the alarm was that we could leave you alone in here sometimes. Now it's true that we didn't think of... other things setting the alarm off, but it really was meant to be better for all of us."

"It's not."

"No." He sighed. "Look, Scarlet, I know this feels like the end of the world, but it's really not. And like I say, we can remove the alarm, but... look, Scarlet, you're a smart girl. Can't you improvise? It's just a bed it's not like it's the only place you can be!"

She stopped crying so she could stare at him with huge, surprised eyes.

"What?" he asked her.

"You're not... I should... I'm... allowed? I mean... you don't care?"

"What? Course you're allowed. I mean, it's not like you should do it in public, but it's pretty well accepted that everyone does it. Most people get the opportunity to lock themselves away and you don't and I'm sorry about that, but that's not the same as saying that you shouldn't. We'll start knocking. I promise you that; we won't come in without knocking first, even if we think you're having a fit. OK? But now you know the pitfalls of the bed alarm, could you just... avoid it?"

She stared at him a while more then shook her head. "Sherlock's... upset."

"No he's not. And if he is he shouldn't be. If he's ever suggested he's never masturbated that I can tell you with certainty that's a lie."

Scarlet closed her eyes. "Too much, Dad. Too... much."

John smiled and kissed her forehead. "OK. Sorry. Will you come downstairs?"

"No."

"When you're ready then."

She nodded and he got up and left.

Sherlock was still sat at the kitchen table when he got back downstairs, but he'd at least managed to make them both tea.

"Is she OK?" he asked.

"Yes. Embarrassed of course, but she'll get over it. Will you?"

"I already am. I apologise for over-reacting. Should I tell her?"

"No. Leave her alone. She'll be fine in a bit. But we have to start knocking when we go in there."

"What if she's having a seizure though?"

"Well then she won't answer."

"She spends a lot of time in her room at the moment."

"That's normal."

"I know, but... I worry and have to check on her."

"We know. We've all noticed. We'll have to think about that but at the moment I think we just need to be grateful that she's agreed to accept the bed alarm and try and give her as much space as we can manage."

"Fine."

"So if you could increase your checking time to, say, every ninety minutes, I think that she'd be grateful."

Sherlock smiled. "Am I really that unsubtle?"

"Yeah. It doesn't matter though. To be honest, I'm only able to resist because I know you're doing it. I'm as bad when you're not here." He hugged Sherlock. "We'll just have to take every day as it comes for a while I think."

"Excellent. I'm brilliant at doing that."

John smiled.

oOo

John woke to the familiar feeling of Sherlock jabbing at him with a finger.

"Wha' d'you want?" he murmured.

"It's Wednesday."

"So?"

"My Christmas present is arriving today."

"So?"

"So… can we get up?"

John didn't move. Sherlock wondered if he was just ignoring him, but then the low, familiar sound of John snoring sounded. He jabbed him again. Then again.

"Wha' d'you want?"

"It's still Wednesday."

"So?"

"Please let me get up! I'm very excited."

"OK. Off you go then."

"No, you have to come with me."

"No I don't."

John settled deeper into his pillow.

"John! Please!"

"Wha' time is it?"

Sherlock paused. "I don't know."

"Wha's it say on the clock."

"It says five forty, but I think it might be wrong. We should get up and go and check."

"Fuck off, Sherlock."

John turned away and settled down again, pulling the duvet up around his neck.

Sherlock sighed and fell back on the bed. He looked over at the lump of bedding that was John. After a moment he slowly and carefully moved the duvet so he could snuggle closer to him. He spooned around him and slowly draped his arm over John's side and he kissed gently at John's shoulder.

"Go away," John said to him.

Sherlock was still for a second, then he continued with the kissing and he snuggled closer to John. He slid his hand into John's t-shirt.

"I'm not getting up," John told him.

"I'm looking to change that," Sherlock growled, nibbling on John's ear.

John giggled but didn't open his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Well you can just lie there then while I do all the work. Consider it my Christmas present to you, because I forgot to get you anything."

"You forgot? I go and buy you a sodding…"

Sherlock was still. "A sodding what? Please go on."

"Nice try," John said with a smile.

"Shall I guess some more?" Sherlock asked, snaking around him.

"No."

"What should I do then?"

"You could get on with my Christmas present."

Half an hour later, Sherlock was naked and straddling John while John gazed and grinned at him. Sherlock leaned forward to kiss around John's neck and shoulders. He'd stop kissing at intervals to make fairly wild guesses about his present.

"Coffee maker."

"Not saying."

A few more kisses. "A horse."

"No!"

Sherlock chuckled. "A motorbike."

"No! Stop guessing!"

They were interrupted. "Dad, there a... Shit!" The door closed quickly behind Scarlet.

They froze.

"Scarlet?" Sherlock shouted to her but she didn't answer.

"Hell," muttered John, pushing Sherlock off him.

"She won't come back in now." Sherlock told him.

"I know, I should go and talk to her."

"She couldn't have seen anything anyway. You were pretty much covered by me and I was pretty much covered by the duvet."

John sighed. "Are you sure? You're not just saying that to make me feel better."

"John, trust me, if I thought our daughter had seen my naked backside, I would be dying of shame right now. But she didn't. Promise. She saw the two of us together and her brain's done the rest."

"Well, she saw us naked and in a position."

"She saw us topless. You're not even fully naked. Yet."

"Sherlock..."

"Please? I am absolutely certain that we haven't completely broken Scarlet." He frowned for a moment. "Not this time anyway. Who knows what therapy's going to reveal later on?"

John smiled at him.

John had expected upset and recriminations from Scarlet that morning, but he was pleasantly surprised to find she'd started cleaning the kitchen time he'd got downstairs. She was cleaning it in a morally outraged huff, but she wasn't throwing things, so John counted it as a win.

He went to turn the kettle on and watched as she moved to do something else while refusing to look at him.

"Good morning," he said to her. She set her jaw but didn't otherwise respond. "Well, I think I'd suggest that Sherlock and I aren't the only ones who need to learn how to knock."

She turned around to face him, looking furious. "No! No, not… the same!"

"How is it not?"

She blushed angrily.

"I think it probably is, Scarlet. You're turning into an adult and you want your own adult space, and within reason we'll do what we can to give you that space. But we're adults too and we ought to be allowed our own space sometimes, don't you think?"

"No!"

John laughed. "Really? Can you tell me why not?"

"I'm… I'm…" suddenly she was crying and John felt he might have misjudged the situation slightly. "I'm your… _child_."

He pulled her to him and she let him hug her. "I'm sorry, Scarlet. I'm sorry." He held her as she sobbed slightly. "Listen, you will always, always be our child, and we're never going to cut you off or keep you out or anything like that. But we can't just stop being adults in a relationship to suit you, OK?" She sobbed some more. "It's OK," he said into her hair. "Settle down now, it's all OK."

She sniffed and nodded. "Sorry… walked in."

"It's OK."

She smiled and then cried some more and he hugged her again, praying for the next five years to pass as swiftly and smoothly as possible but knowing that they probably wouldn't.

Sherlock ran down the stairs, fresh from his shower.

"When's it coming? Will it be soon?" he called from the stairs. He bounded in. "It's Christmas present day!" He noticed them and diminished slightly. "Or we could talk about it later," he finished.

Scarlet turned round and laughed again. "Can I have… mine too?"

"No," John told her.

"Father Christmas doesn't come until Friday," Sherlock said. She rolled her eyes at him and stalked out in a huff.

"I'm having some difficulty identifying her moods," he said to John as he watched her stamp up the stairs.

"Aren't we all? Come on, we have to sort out the front room a bit."

"For what? For my present? How big is it? Oh, John! You've bought me a piano, haven't you! Oh, John!"

He grabbed John into a massive bear hug, lifting him from the floor slightly. He put him down and started kissing him all over his face while John laughed.

Scarlet came back in. "God! Get a… room! I'm not knocking for… here!"

Sherlock laughed. "Scarlet, John's bought me a piano! For here! For me to play! We could play together, me on the piano, you on the guitar! Or I could teach you to play yourself a bit! Would you like that? Of course you would. Where shall we put it? Over here I think would be best. We'll have to sell the sofa, but that's no great loss…"

"Sherlock, settle down. We're not selling anything. We might need a smaller coffee table and to shuffle some things…"

Sherlock was already moving the sofa out of the way. John rolled his eyes and looked at Scarlet who was thankfully laughing. For now. He had a sudden rush of love and sympathy for her and smiled about it for a while. A second later he dashed over to prevent Sherlock braining himself on the desk.


	33. Mrs Hudson 1

**This chapter is heavy, and angsty and might well be difficult to read. Please, if you're in a Not Good place right now, do skip ahead a couple of chapters (when I've written them). I will completely understand. **

**

* * *

**_Mid January, following 'Christmas Presents.'_

I was vaguely aware that it was getting late, and I was vaguely aware that the music I'd selected was not sedate or quiet or soft. Nevertheless, I was so caught up by the music that I hadn't heard John approaching at all. I have no idea how long he'd been stood there watching me before I got to a phrase that was gentle enough for him to speak over.

"Sherlock!"

I stopped playing but I didn't turn around to look at him. In my mind's eye, my picture of him was perfect and I didn't want it spoiled by reality. Tousled hair, eyes bleary with sleep, sagging slightly with exhaustion, in his pyjamas... I'd guess his striped pyjamas tonight, and with a look on his face that spoke of annoyance, but also resignation and love. I see that look so often it's been permanently etched on my brain. I wouldn't be surprised if Jane could see it on her machine.

"Sherlock, you know I love you. And I do love you from the very bottom of my heart. I love you forever. I love you more than I've loved anyone ever, apart from Scarlet. So you'll understand the depth of my love when I say this to you. Please, for the love of God, would you shut the fuck up."

I grinned. I listened as he sat down and the creak of the sofa as he put his feet up and settled down. I did feel a moment of guilt. This was the fourth night in a row I'd woken him or disturbed his sleep in some way. The day before that, Scarlet had.

"Sorry," I told him, "I didn't realise it was that loud."

"It was." His voice was muffled and I could imagine him lying with his face obscured by a cushion. "Look, it has a volume button. It was the whole reason I went electric and not stringed. I bought you headphones. I'm not telling you not to play it, just not at night, or if you do, at least use the headphones."

"I don't like the headphones." I knew I was being unfair but it was true. Playing just wasn't the same if the sound wasn't allowed to escape.

"I don't like not being able to sleep for days on end," he responded, quite fairly. "What's wrong with you anyway? You're not on a case, there's nothing going on. Scarlet hasn't been too bad recently, I really can't see any reason for you to not be able to sleep."

He was right, it wasn't my usual insomnia. I'd felt agitated and unsettled for a week or more. I knew what was causing it, I knew it was my fault, and I could solve it all, and part of the reason I didn't want to say was because I knew I was being thoroughly ridiculous. I changed the subject.

"John, I love the piano. I'd forgotten… I'd forgotten how much I loved it."

"Do you love it more or less than the violin?"

That was an interesting question. At the moment, it was all I wanted to do. It was an obsession. But the second I thought that I might prefer it, I felt curiously disloyal and guilty about the violin. Even though I knew it was utterly foolish, I couldn't deny that it was clearly my first love. "Less. But it's a different thing anyway."

"Yes, it's louder for one thing. So why can't you sleep?"

Oh there was so much going on in my head that I barely knew how to begin. Since we had rowed that time, I had been barely able to keep my thoughts about John and Scarlet at bay. The therapy wasn't helping. Well, obviously the therapy _was_ helping, and the way John and I were when we were together was so much better than it had been and I'd happily pay thousands and thousands for it. But it wasn't helping me switch off the thoughts and feelings that I was having. Every second of every day I seemed to be acutely aware of what I felt for John and Scarlet and I felt the need to analyze each thought. I was bombarded by my own brain. When I'd been called in on the fraud case, I'd been slightly nervous that I wouldn't be able to concentrate at all, but in fact, I'd been fine. I was able to hear the facts over the noise of everything else, and that was such a relief.

The thoughts didn't go away though, and occasionally, I'd felt the way I did when I used to reach for the cocaine because I'd wanted anything to distract me from my own brain, and that was alarming.

The thoughts weren't even unpleasant ones most of the time, but they were constantly present. The problem was that we'd opened up a part of my brain that held all the confusing moments from my past. John was right, it was necessary. I couldn't go on forever just brushing past it and being shocked and afraid of what was there. But I knew that there was this lurking darkness just there and I was so terrified of it. So while I was busy trying to keep that one thought _in,_ everything else was _out_ and running wild in my consciousness.

I wondered if I should just tell him now. He knew it was there, and the wonderful, astonishing man hadn't pressed me or insisted or even just asked.

I looked over at him. My vision had been right, from the tousled hair to the striped pyjamas. I felt desperately in love with him and guilty that I was putting him through this.

I wasn't sure whether he was still awake or not. He wasn't snoring, but his breathing was slow and calm.

"I admire your patience," I said softly enough not to wake him.

John grunted. "It's not patience; it's exhaustion that's stopping me take a ruddy axe to that thing."

I laughed. I loved him a little more.

"I love you, John."

"I know," he told me. "You just don't love me when I've had enough sleep."

"I do. I love you."

"Mm. Tell you what, tell me in the morning."

I wondered about this. It would be fairer, but I reasoned he wanted me to sleep, and if I told him everything, I might be able to do so. I also calculated that he'd had at least six hours of sleep each night, even if it had been broken. He'd done substantially better than me.

"I asked you for a week off three weeks ago, and you haven't mentioned it since."

"No."

"So you're not remotely curious?"

"I'm very curious. But you aren't ready to talk about it, and when you are, you will."

"What if it's just that I don't know how to start?"

"You're clever. You'll work something out."

For a second, I wondered if now was the time. I opened my mouth but suddenly my heart was racing and my head was spinning and I couldn't think of a single word that I could use to explain. And once again, I understood why he wasn't pushing me just to satisfy his own curiosity.

"Just to reiterate; I love you."

I did. I do. I am regularly astonished by the humanity of this man.

"Good. Now shut the fuck up."

The humanity of John. The human-ness of John. I should have realised long before I did that when that humanity was turned off, it was because something was wrong. I was momentarily shaken when I thought of how close I had been to walking away from him.

"I'm glad I didn't leave," I told him.

"Well, I'm wondering about slinging both you and the bloody piano out on the street. That was a joke, by the way. Don't get weird and paranoid."

I smiled. My lovely John. "I got it."

There was something gnawing away at me though. As I was taking the opportunity to spill every thought but _that_ one, I told him. "I love Scarlet more than you."

He wasn't surprised or angry. In fact, for a second he was confused.

"How can you possibly measure how much I love Scarlet?"

"No, I mean I love Scarlet more than I love you. If I had to choose between the two of you, I'd choose her."

I felt strangely apprehensive about this admission, but John, of course, took it in his stride.

"Good. If you didn't, I'd ruddy kill you."

"It hasn't always been that way."

"I know. Doesn't matter. It is now. Is this why you can't sleep?"

I wondered, or _hoped_ that it might be, but I knew I wasn't that lucky.

"No. Though I'm glad I told you."

"You didn't need to. I knew. It's what being a Dad feels like."

And we were suddenly close to the Monster and I was nervous.

"Yes. I thought it was," was all I could think to say.

"Are you going to ask me that question now?" he asked me, sleepily. "Because I don't think you have today."

"It's tomorrow already."

"Well?"

I didn't need to ask him. I knew what he would say and I didn't doubt the honesty of his answer for a second. But still, particularly now I'd had so little sleep and with the noise of the rest of my thoughts was in my head, I liked the warm comfort of hearing him say the words.

"When you said... what you said, was it really because you were cross and it was an easy strike?"

"Yes. That was the only reason. It wasn't true and it hasn't been for the longest time, for years before the adoption, you have been her Father, and not a single part of me doubts that you will be every second of every day until you die."

It was a longer answer than usual, possibly because he was too tired to be concise, but probably because he knew I needed more that night.

"Doesn't bother you that I've asked you the same question every day for weeks?" I asked him. I'd go insane if he was doing the same to me.

"No. I'll tell you every day if you need to hear it. I'll tell you every day along with 'I love you' and 'don't forget to eat something'. Are you coming to bed? If not, do you mind if I just sleep here while you can continue to talk or not? Because I really need some sleep."

I smiled and once again felt slightly guilty. "Sorry. I'll shut the fuck up. Let's go to bed."

We did go up to bed, even though I knew I wouldn't sleep. I did indeed lay there with John's arms around me, feeling both settled and safe, and at the same time as if I was on the edge of a precipice. Eventually, an hour or so before dawn, I managed to go to sleep with my face pressed into his chest and his hand in my hair.

oOo

I had been asleep for two hours at the most when I was woken by John swearing quietly. He quickly got out of bed and went to knock on Scarlet's door and I could hear him calling her.

"Scarlet, love, we've overslept! Come on, you'll have to get up now or you'll be late for school."

He came back to grab his dressing gown and saw me getting up.

"Sherlock, go back to sleep. Please. You look like death."

He was probably right, but I knew I wouldn't sleep any more so I got up and followed him downstairs. Scout was greeting him as if she hadn't seen him for years. She gave me a passing look before returning to him.

"Yes, yes, give me a second!" he told her. "Just a second. I can't take you out until I've peed and I can't do that until Scarlet's out of the bathroom."

Unsurprising, Scout didn't care about the state of his bladder and she leapt up at him and dashed round in small circles. I headed for the kitchen. I was feeling worse than I felt was right and proper, and I looked in the sugar pot three times before I finally registered that it was empty.

"John, did you buy sugar when you were out yesterday?"

He winced. "No, sorry I completely forgot. Give me ten minutes and I'll nip out and get some."

It would be longer than that and I couldn't wait. Scarlet arrived just in time to hear me suggest borrowing some from Mrs Hudson. Her face lit up.

"I'll go!" She was straight out of the door again and I smiled. I wondered whether at some point her teenage moods would overrule her eagerness to visit Mrs Hudson at every possible opportunity.

John went off to use the bathroom and Scarlet was back in a flash.

"She's out. Can I... can I have... keys?"

I grabbed them from the jar on the fridge and handed them over. She crossed paths with John on her way back out again.

"Where's she going?" John demanded. "She's going to be so late for school."

"Oh, we'll put her in a cab. It'll be fine." She'd clearly still be late but I couldn't summon the energy to either care, or do anything about it.

John went off to try to find Scout's lead. Scarlet came back and stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at me. She didn't say anything, she didn't even try to say anything. She just stared.

"Did you get the sugar?" I asked her, stupidly, when it was quite clear that she hadn't.

She shook her head slightly. And I realised that Mrs Hudson wouldn't be out at that time in the morning.

Suddenly I knew that Mrs Hudson had died.

I pushed past her and ignored John coming back in, wondering what was happening. I ran down the stairs, manically repeating "No, no, no, no, no," and I ran through the open door to find her.

She was lying on the floor, between her living room, and her kitchen. She was wearing the clothes she'd had on the day before. One of her feet was still in its slipper, but the other had fallen off. There was no blood, no disturbance of any sort. She'd clearly been walking into the kitchen one second, and had died the next.

For the first time in months, my head was devoid of any thought at all.

I could hear John coming down the stairs and I started calling for him. He was suddenly there. He didn't falter, or swear, or show any level of surprise. He walked up to Martha and squatted down next to her. He gently felt her wrist and moved her hair back so that he could look into her face. Other than that, he didn't move her at all.

He looked up at me.

"Sherlock, can you get your phone? I'll make the calls."

I nodded, mutely but didn't go anywhere for a second. We were both interrupted by a quiet noise and turning, we saw that Scarlet had come back. Scout had come too, and I had to reach down and grab her collar to prevent her disturbing Martha.

"Actually, I'll sort the phone," John told me. "Could you two take Scout out for her walk please? I'll stay here."

I was astonished that he'd ask us to do such a thing, but he calmly handed Scout's lead to me and I found I was unable to refuse. As I looked at Scarlet, I realised it would probably be better that she wasn't in the house for a while. It was also quite evident that John would handle the phone calls better than I was. I remember feeling relieved that my usual thought processes were coming back, and with that feeling, I clipped Scout's lead on, and took her and Scarlet back upstairs so that we could get dressed.

We didn't walk far. Just as far as the park for a quick circuit. We didn't talk at all. I noticed Scarlet stealing furtive, worried glances up at me. I wasn't entirely sure what to say to comfort her, or even whether she needed comforting.

"Do you want to sit down out here for a bit?" I asked her as we were nearing the end of the walk.

She looked off towards Baker Street. I wondered if like me she was both dreading going home, and wanting to be nowhere else but there. I recalled John's words in therapy that time, about how he wanted to be with Scarlet and nowhere near her at the same time and had a moment of insight as to what that might feel like.

After a moment, Scarlet shook her head and we headed back home.

Scarlet took Scout straight upstairs and I went back into Mrs Hudson's flat to check in with John. He had straightened Martha up a little bit. She was in a more natural position, and her clothes were straight. He had closed her eyes; something that I knew from experience was more difficult than is shown in films. He had covered her with the blanket that she kept on her armchair but for some reason he had refrained from covering her face. He was sat in her armchair now, and had the television on to catch up with the news as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. As if there could be any news more significant than what was happening today in this flat.

He looked up at me. "Do you want to stay upstairs with Scarlet, or would you prefer to be down here?"

I stared. I hadn't the first clue about what I wanted at that moment. He watched me for a moment before nodding.

"It might be better if you stayed with Scarlet for a bit. You could always come downstairs when people arrive if you want."

I nodded. "Do you want me to bring you some tea?" I asked him.

"Please. Oh, you'll need sugar, hang on." He stepped carefully around Martha, rather than over her. He came back with a full jar of sugar.

For years and years we'd all been in and out of each other's flats, borrowing whatever we might need and thinking nothing of it. Suddenly, now that Martha was dead, it felt slightly immoral to borrow her sugar. I was so shocked by the irrationality of that thought, that all I could do was stand there, staring at the jar of sugar in his hands.

John reached out and held my hand for a moment, stroking it with his thumb. "Sherlock..." he said, but didn't seem to have anything to follow it with. He pulled me into his arms and I fell onto him blindly. He held me firmly for a moment, and as I held him, it became quite clear that I was going to cry.

He kissed my neck and pulled away, handing the sugar over to me. He reached up to squeeze my arm and I saw there were tears in his eyes too. I watched as he brushed them away and I hoped it would be that easy for me.

"If Scarlet wants to stay home today, it might be best to let her."

I nodded. I realised that Scarlet hadn't put her uniform on when she'd dressed earlier. She'd clearly made the decision already.

I coughed to try to clear the lump that was in my throat. "I'll go and make you that tea."

I walked slowly up the stairs, trying, and failing to brush off the tears the way John had. I made the tea and took his downstairs to him. I didn't tell him that I'd made mine plain as I couldn't bear the idea of stealing Mrs Hudson's sugar. I didn't tell him how scared that I was on account of the foolishness of my thoughts. I left again, quickly.

Scarlet had decided to settle at the kitchen table with her schoolbooks. I was hugely grateful that she hadn't chosen to respond to all of this activity with a teenage strop. She glanced up at me when I came in.

"Is there... anything ... should be... doing?"

"No, no you're fine. Thank you."

I went to sit on the sofa. A while later I heard someone knock on the door. I could hear John talking calmly, professionally to whoever was there. They seemed to take forever doing whatever they felt they needed to do and I thought that more people had arrived and left. I chose not to go downstairs to talk to anyone. When it became evident that they were leaving all I got up and went to the window and leaned my forehead against the glass.

I watched them wheel out a stretcher on which was Martha. My Mrs Hudson. She was covered and dignified. She was put into the back of a private Ambulance and driven away.

I could hear John coming upstairs and into the room. It took me a while to turn and face him.

I tried to clear my throat again. "I'm quite tired," I told him. "Do you mind if I pop upstairs for a rest?"

"No that's fine," he told me gently. I was once again flooded with love for this man and his humanity. I couldn't stop the tears though, they just kept coming and coming and Scarlet was looking at me, concerned.

I just nodded at him and went to crawl into the bed to wait for the tears to stop.

oOo

An hour or so later John quietly came in with a cup of tea for me. He didn't say anything. He just put it down on the bed-side table, stroked the hair from my forehead and kissed me, before leaving again.

From what I can recall, he checked on me hourly, but it all got strange and fuzzy quite quickly after that.

I think I might have slept at some point. Certainly he was leaving one moment, then a minute or two later he was back again. I remember suddenly being confused and worried by his sudden ability to time-travel. I thought I saw something running across the ceiling and down the stairs but he couldn't see it. He couldn't see the crack in the ceiling that was opening and closing constantly either. I briefly wondered if he was an imposter, but he smelled too right to be wrong.

He stayed that time. He got onto the bed with me and held me quite firmly. I can't remember much of what I did and said but he told me later that I was both clinging to him and trying to push him away. I can't remember what either of us said to each other at all and he tells me it was not important.

Suddenly Mike Stanford of all people was in the room with us and I was utterly confused about that. I knew that John hadn't left me, yet here Mike was. I wondered if John had the ability to communicate with Mike telepathically and that he'd somehow kept that ability from me.

I had the feeling that other people were in the house too. Mycroft certainly was; I could sense him and I was suddenly terrified that John would leave me and turn into Mycroft or a hundred Mycrofts.

At some point, I bit John's hand. It seemed the only way of knowing for sure if it was really him. I was horrified when he yelped. It hadn't occurred to me for a second that it would hurt him.

A discussion was had between John and Mike, at the end of which, two pills were produced and held out to me. I was convinced that Mike was trying to kill me so that he could steal John away and pretend Scarlet was his own daughter because both of his were ugly failures. I knew he wanted to marry her to his sons but for some reason I couldn't explain that she was far too young.

John held me very calmly and firmly and told me that the pills were simply to make me sleep for a while. He told me that he wasn't going to force me to take anything, but he promised me that the pills would make me feel better. He asked if I trusted him and of course I did. I suddenly felt as if everything beyond the bed was not real, but just created out of my own imagination and that if we were to step beyond the bed we would fall into oblivion, but the bed, and him and me, we were real.

He held the two pills out to me and I took them and swallowed them with a little water. I held onto his hand tightly, for fear that he would get off the bed and float away. And then I was asleep.

* * *

**Sorry. Please don't hate me. I will upload the second part of this just as soon as I can. It's in my head, but not typed yet. Pip xxx**


	34. Mrs Hudson 2

**The angst continues.**

**

* * *

**_The same day._**  
**

I was having a bad day. Though clearly not as bad as the day Sherlock was having. He was currently lying next to me with his eyes closed, his face buried into my thigh, squeezing my hand so tightly I feared he would break a couple of bones. It was the same hand he'd bitten earlier. I wondered what he had against that hand today. I also wondered if he was pretending to sleep to make Mike go away, or whether he was just so addled that it was the only thing he felt he could do.

Slowly and surely his breathing slowed and his grip on my hand weakened until I could free myself. I wrung and shook it slightly and Mike watched me.

"Do you want me to look at that?" he asked.

"No. It's fine." It was hurting a fair amount, and I suspected there would be a bruise but I didn't want Mike to fuss. Somewhat stupidly, I felt that at that moment, Sherlock could do whatever he wanted to my hand, and no-one else had the right to judge or question it.

I ran my hand through his hair. He didn't move. He was asleep, which was good, but I could still see the tension in his body. I wondered if it was worth trying to change him into pyjamas but I suspected that he'd wake up and fight me if I tried it, so I just continued stroking him for a bit.

After a moment I remembered that Mike was still there, watching me, and I was mildly embarrassed. I looked up at him.

"Thanks for coming."

"No problem, John. You know it isn't. What do you want me to prescribe?"

I thought about it. Part of the problem was that I wasn't sure what Sherlock would take.

"Dosulepin please. Some 75s and some 25s. I'll work out the dose he needs from there."

He nodded in agreement, and looked at Sherlock in his drug-induced sleep.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have expected that from him," Mike told me.

"Really? I think I've been seeing glimpses of it for years."

He shrugged. "Well, you know him better than me. Better than anyone I would think."

I nodded. It had shocked me more than I was letting on. I had seen something in him, particularly when he hadn't eaten or slept for days on end or if there was a particularly difficult case for him to work on, but he'd always managed to skirt away from it at what felt like the last minute. I hadn't expected him to fall in.

Still, this reaction now, the fact that he needed me to focus on him for a while, made my own grief for Mrs Hudson so much easier to deal with.

I was conscious of the fact that Scarlet needed a look though. Sherlock was still tense and breathing erratically and I was reluctant to leave him.

"Mike can you stay here for ten minutes? I just want to quickly check Scarlet."

"Course."

I was pleased that Sherlock didn't respond at all to me pulling away from him and leaving. I began to feel more certain that he'd stay unconscious for a while. I went into the bathroom and instantly felt the peace of having a locked door between me and everyone else for a moment. I allowed myself to revel in it for a minute and a half before going downstairs.

Mycroft and Greg were sat side by side, and Scarlet was curled up in the green armchair. There was some Disney nonsense on the TV that Scarlet had grown out of years before, but none of them were actually watching it. All three heads turned to me as soon as I came in.

"Is Sherlock…?" Scarlet started. I decided that this wasn't one of those occasions where it was better to wait for her to finish.

"He's fine, Scarlet. He needs more sleep and more food than he's been having of late, but he's going to be fine. Are you OK?"

She nodded. I had the feeling that concern for Sherlock was overpowering her need to grieve too. I hoped that it wouldn't be for long.

"Right, who needs food?" I asked, looking round.

"We'll do it, mate," Greg told me. "We only waited because we weren't sure what you'd need. Chinese OK?"

"Yes, fine. Thank you."

"Do you want us to stay over tonight?"

I didn't, but the practicalities needed to come first.

"That would be great. Thanks. Right then. Tea? Hot Chocolate, Scarlet?"

She nodded and I went through to the kitchen. Mycroft materialised behind me.

"What's happening with him?" he asked me, keeping his voice very low.

"I don't actually know right now." I put the kettle on and turned to face him. "How did he react when your parents died?"

"Not like this. With mother he was… I would say disappointed slightly, but basically practical. When Father died, he seemed to have a moment of anger, then he dismissed the whole thing from his mind."

"Has he ever hallucinated before? That you know about?"

"Only when he was detoxing. Oh! You don't think he's…"

"No, Mycroft, I'm certain he hasn't touched anything. It's helpful to know that there is a precedent for some of his symptoms though."

"Is he very bad?"

"Pretty bad. I'm cursing myself for not seeing it coming."

"But you couldn't have predicted anything!"

"No. But still. I knew he was struggling. He tried to tell me as much last night but I was too sleepy to understand him. I think Mrs Hudson just pushed him over the edge. Well, not deliberately, obviously."

"No."

The kettle clicked off and I busied myself for a moment with making drinks. I got misty eyed, thinking of Mrs Hudson with her endless cups of tea. I'd fitted in immediately here, partly because of Sherlock and partly because of her. She was un-shockable, long-suffering, and the maker of thousands of cups of tea. This fitted well with me, struggling with shock, outrageously selfish at times and with the need to drink gallons and gallons of tea.

"John…" Mycroft said, quietly.

"Mm."

"I understand that there's a school of thought that believes that things from you past can have an effect on your emotions when you're much, much older."

I smiled and looked at him. It was very like Mycroft to reduce hundreds of years of Psychological Research into a 'school of thought'.

"Yes. Yes I've heard of it, Mycroft."

He paused for a moment and stood very still. I waited.

"John… John, I'd like you to know that I'm very sorry for not being able to protect him from all of it. I should have done more."

I stared at him, waiting for my brain to work out what to say. It didn't happen.

"Mycroft, I appreciate that but I can't…. I can't do this with you now. Please, do you think you let me sort out Sherlock and Scarlet and then come back to you later?"

He smiled, which was a relief as I was aware I was trampling on his emotions.

"Of course. Thank you, John. Besides, I've got Greg."

I smiled at this. "Good. Does Greg know that you've got Greg?"

"Yes. We're friends, John. Just friends, but we live together now which is very pleasant. We both wondered what the point was, of being two lonely old men in two separate houses."

"Oh. Good." I suddenly realised what I should have said to him before. "Mycroft, try not to forget that you were a child too. Your responsibilities at that time were lesser."

"Yes, but I was his brother." He looked dejected, as if he had failed at something.

"You're still his brother, Mycroft."

He nodded.

"I'm going back upstairs now," I told him. "Let me know when food arrives."

"Oh, John…"

I turned back to him.

"I forgot to mention. Mrs Hudson left the house to Scarlet, with Greg and me as trustees. I just thought I'd mention in case you were worried you'd have to move out."

"I wasn't. But thank you." I was completely unable to process that piece of information, so I left him to carry the rest of the drinks in and went back upstairs.

Mike was sat on the bed, checking Sherlock's pulse. He glanced towards me as I came in.

"It's slowing down a bit now," he told me.

"Good. Thanks." I settled myself down on the bed next to Sherlock and examined him for a moment. He was still sleeping with that screwed up look of concentration so favoured by new-born babies. The rest of his body was beginning to look more relaxed though.

"Do you want me to stay?" Mike asked.

"No, thanks I'm fine from here. Scarlet's got her uncles with her and we're getting back on track. Thank you."

"OK, well I'm trusting you to call me should anything untoward happen."

"I will."

"Good. I'll drop the other stuff in for you tomorrow."

I nodded at him and he left. I decided that Sherlock was probably asleep enough to risk changing him into pyjamas so I got on with that, surprised at how much of my training I could still manage with ease. His eyes fluttered open once, but only for a second or two before he was asleep again. I settled him and tucked him in and was just wondering whether I should go to sleep too, when the smell of Chinese food suddenly reminded me that I hadn't eaten yet. I got up again and went downstairs.

Greg and Scarlet were dishing the food onto plates.

"You should have stayed up there," Greg told me. "I was about to bring yours up to you."

"Nah, he's OK for a bit." I noticed Scarlet glancing up at me, wondering about this. "Besides, I have to make sure Scarlet doesn't pinch all the sweet and sour sauce." I smiled at her and she smiled back.

We settled down to eat. I realised I was starving and had ploughed through half of mine before I realised that I was being watched by various people and I slowed down.

"So, Greg, just how strange is it living with Mycroft?"

"It's not like that!" He said, instantly. A glance at Mycroft confirmed that he hadn't the slightest concern about this reaction.

"I know. But you're living in the same house and I'd quite like an insider view."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Well, does he seem like the dinner party type to you?" I asked him.

"No, I suppose no, which is odd because he has a cook."

"Well, that explains…" I allowed that thought to drift off, unspoken, but Mycroft was still smiling, clearly happy with the level of domesticity he now had.

"He has a cleaner too. Two in fact. I don't know why because he's not exactly untidy…"

"They do the dusting," Mycroft told us. "I don't like dust."

"Well it's weird! I have to hide when they come in!"

"You don't have to," Mycroft told him.

"I do though. I tried talking to them, but they didn't seem to like that, so now I hide. It's better that way."

I smiled and glanced over to Scarlet. She was pushing rice around her plate and crying, quietly.

"Scarlet, love…"

She glanced up at me and shook her head.

"It's OK, petal." I gave her arm a squeeze. "It's going to be OK."

She shook her head again. "Mrs Hudson… Mrs Hudson…" she sniffed and struggled. "She… birthday cake!"

"Oh, sweetheart, it's OK." As adolescent as she might be, she still allowed me to pull her onto her lap to give her a hug.

"Scarlet, maybe my Mrs Dennis could make your birthday cake," Mycroft offered.

"She's very good!" Lestrade put in. "I'm sure it would be as good as Mrs Hudson's!" When Mycroft frowned at him he corrected to "_Nearly_ as good. No-one could out out-bake Mrs Hudson."

I held Scarlet there as the two of them offered thoughts and suggestions on various bakers they knew and cakes that they had eaten, looking desperate to make this all better for Scarlet. I stroked her hair knowing that the tears didn't have anything to do with cake at all.

Scarlet seemed to realise though, and she settled slightly with the realisation that nobody was expecting her to cope by herself at all. She went back to her seat and slowly ate and slowly started discussing ballet with Mycroft. I had nothing that I could add, as each time I'd taken her to watch I'd ended up sleeping through at least half, so I turned back to my food.

Greg insisted on washing up and Mycroft and Scarlet had moved on to impressionist art, another subject where my input would be fairly meaningless so I went back upstairs.

Sherlock was sleeping fairly normally now. Heavily, but it was proper sleep. I got into bed next to him and was asleep within minutes myself.

oOo

It was odd, waking up the following morning, with Sherlock still sleeping soundly beside me. I was able to get up and dress without disturbing him at all. Other than the expected, heavy weight of sadness, I felt better than I had done all week and I hoped that a decent night's rest would go some way to restoring Sherlock too. We hadn't been shy when we'd dosed him, but still, knowing Sherlock's metabolism, I couldn't say for sure when I expected him to wake up.

It was after nine when I headed downstairs and found Greg, Mycroft and Scarlet already eating breakfast. I briefly wondered where the two men had slept, but decided quite quickly I didn't want to know.

Greg got up to make me tea and I got a bit misty remembering that that was Mrs Hudson's self-appointed job in a crisis. I got over it quite quickly.

Scout was behaving in an alarmingly disloyal way, happily following Greg around. When he sat back down at the table, she put her head on his lap.

"What have you done to my dog, Greg?"

"Nothing! I took her out for a walk, that's all."

"He fed her… fed her, er, Chinese Chicken," Scarlet told me.

"You weren't supposed to tell!" He protested, but he was smiling. "Oh and your friend came round again. He left a package for you, it's on the mantelpiece but he told me not to wake you.

"Thanks. I'm glad you didn't."

"Is Sherlock OK?"

"Sleeping like a baby."

"When he was a baby he had awful colic. He barely slept at all." Mycroft felt the need to point out. "

Well, he is now."

I felt the need to remind Scout who her real master was and I sat down and made a fuss of her for a bit. I was pleased to see that her loyalty was quickly transferable back to me.

"We were thinking of taking Scarlet into town to do some shopping," Mycroft told me. "Is that OK with you?"

"Of course, if she wants to go."

Scarlet nodded eagerly. "I need… need er… funeral clothes."

I nodded again. "I think you need some fun clothes too. You need to stop growing so quickly. Don't exhaust Uncle Mycroft though. He probably doesn't have your stamina for shopping."

She grinned, happily and I was pleased she was young enough to bounce back from the trauma of the day before. I dug out my bank-card for her, and then sat down to have some breakfast myself. I relaxed a little bit and stayed with them until they were ready to leave. I handed Mycroft a blister pack of medication for Scarlet, and waved them out the door.

I glanced at the closed door of Mrs Hudson's flat before going back upstairs to Sherlock.

He was still asleep, but seemed to be stirring slightly. He was grimacing again, and was whimpering slightly when he rolled over. I got into bed again with him and stroked his head until he settled down again.

I lay there for another hour or two while he alternately slept and whimpered, when suddenly he woke and threw up on the bedclothes. It would have been more of a problem if there was much in his stomach to vomit but even as it was he coughed and choked in a panic while I quickly moved the messed up duvet and sat down with him to calm him down.

He was staring around wildly and I wondered if I had been too optimistic that a sleep would sort him out, but I hadn't factored in how much he could panic when sick and how strange the sedatives had made him feel. It didn't actually take him long to focus on me.

"I don't feel very well," he murmured.

He didn't look very well. He was pale and clammy and shaking.

"It's OK, you're just a bit dehydrated." I helped him sit up and drink some water. He leant against me and calmed down again.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I'm not entirely sure. I think, and I'm sure you'll appreciate the medical term here, you just threw a bit of a nutty."

He didn't laugh, but I didn't expect him too. He just nodded and I could see him going through the events of the previous day, trying to separate the real from the imaginary.

"Mrs Hudson…" he whispered.

"I'm sorry."

He nodded and shuddered. Then he sighed and was weeping again.

"Sherlock, do you think you could sit up and drink some more water for me?"

He did as he was told. A frown appeared on his face.

"I need the bathroom."

I was sorely tempted to offer him a bottle, but Sherlock could be stupidly fastidious about these things and I didn't want to make him more anxious. I just nodded.

"OK, slowly though, and I'm coming with you." He didn't protest and I helped him up and to the bathroom. He suddenly frowned and pulled a face.

"Have I been sick?"

"Yes. Not much though. You're fine now and you won't be again."

He nodded. I waited until he'd finished then helped him back to bed. He was still weeping continuously and I got in next to him and let him rest on me for a bit.

"You did this, you know," he said to me. I wasn't sure what he was talking about so I just waited for him. "You cried after Mary died. You couldn't stop."

"No, I know. I remember."

"Is this the same as that?"

"Well, you're grieving now, if that's what you mean."

He nodded slowly and sighed. "Mrs Hudson loved me."

"Yes she did."

"I've never lost someone who loved me before. It leaves an awfully big hole."

"Yes."

"Is this the same as with you? Am I mentally ill now? I don't want to take pills."

"I don't know. I don't think we should jump the gun with that, I think it's likely that you're highly stressed, you haven't had enough food and sleep, you probably dehydrated and hyperventilated a bit yesterday, then you got more stressed and your brain basically gave up. But I have arranged for something to help you sleep for the next couple of weeks to see if we can't get you back on track."

"I don't want to take pills. I don't care any more."

I held him for a bit. I hoped that the not caring and the confusion would stop in a while and I reminded myself to be patient.

"Do you think you could drink some tea? I want you to eat something too."

He didn't answer but gripped me tighter.

"OK. I'm not going anywhere. But you do need to eat and drink, Sherlock, or we'll have to admit you to hospital."

It wasn't an empty threat and he knew it.

"Can I come with you?"

"Downstairs? OK then."

"Is Scarlet at school?"

"No, it's Saturday. She's out with Mycroft and Greg."

"Have I lost a day?"

"Just a night. Quite a long night, but just that."

He nodded slowly. He kept glancing nervously at the ceiling, but if he could see anything there now, he chose not to tell me.

"Come on then," I said to him. "Let's go and get you fed."

He seemed pleased with the front room and seemed to relax slightly when he was there. He was even happy with Scout leaping on the sofa with him after I'd settled him under a spare duvet. I saw him glance at the piano with a frown.

"What is it?" I asked him. "What's wrong with the piano?"

"No, nothing. It's just… I'm trying to remember where last night went. What did I do?"

"It's not important." It unsettled me though. I'd never known Sherlock forget anything before. Not things that he had done, anyway. Usually he could piece together anything, yet he hadn't even noticed the dark purple marks spreading across my hand.

I left him and went to try to find him something suitable to eat. I fought the impulse to run and ask Mrs Hudson if she had any soup, and she would have immediately that she knew one of us was ill, but instead I settled for making him porridge.

He ate about three mouthfuls before he grimaced and shook his head. I took it away from him. He slowly drank half his tea and some more water, and slowly the shaking reduced. The tears still kept coming though.

I sat him up slightly so that I could shuffle underneath him, then rested him back down on my lap. He shuddered and snuggled into me. He reached around for me hand and held it firmly.

"John, we had a wine-cellar at our house. Actually, we had two cellars. A normal one you could get to from the kitchen stairs that Mycroft wired up with a light and we used it as a lab, but the wine-cellar was separate and you could only reach it from the kitchen garden."

He paused and frowned. "I think there must have been a coal-cellar too, but I don't remember much about that." He went silent for a while. And I stroked his hair.

"The wine-cellar was far too big for the house. We didn't use it. The larder was big enough for our needs. God alone knows what they were thinking when the put it in. I wonder if a massive alchie designed it or something. It was useful though. They converted it into a bomb shelter during the war, but there was nothing left in it when we lived there. There was no light and it was cold. Father used to lock me in it when I'd got something wrong."

I was stunned and for a moment or two I stopped stroking him. He said all of this in the same calm, casual voice that he'd used to tell me about the ruler and the violin and all the other little stories. I noticed he was crying again so I resumed the stroking but hadn't the first idea what to say.

"You must have been terrified," I stammered, stupidly.

"No. I don't think I was." He gripped my hand again, and I wondered if he had noticed. "I knew there was nothing in the dark that wasn't there in the light. I knew that technically I was safe. I remember telling myself over and over, sometimes hundreds of times. I certainly knew I didn't want to be terrified. I knew he'd leave me there longer if I cried or called out."

He paused again for a while. He was getting distressed now and I found I had no idea what to do. I didn't tell him to continue, but I didn't ask him to stop either.

"Once he left me there for two days."

"Two days! Fuck, Sherlock!" I swallowed.

"It wasn't his fault!" he shouted. "He'd been called away because Grandma had died and he just forgot! It wasn't until Mycroft was called home from school that weekend and he noticed I was missing. He worked out where I'd be and came to let me out."

"Where was your mother?"

"I don't know. She hadn't noticed I was gone anyway. Mycroft broke the lock on the door. I remember that. He wouldn't let me talk to him about it, but he broke the lock. I remember wondering if he'd get into trouble but Father never mentioned it again." He gulped massive mouthfuls of air. "He never apologised, but he never tried to put me in there again. He stopped talking to me for a while, he just made comments in my direction. It was after that that he broke the violin."

He was briefly unable to go on. I waited for him. I noticed I was tense and crying myself.

After a moment, Sherlock calmed down and continued. "John, I know what being a Dad feels like. I know for sure that my Father never loved me. He never did. He couldn't have done and still done that."

"Sherlock…" I said but stopped. I wanted to explain to him about love, and how some people are so heinously mixed up that love comes out twisted, and how sometimes people could be so deeply disturbed that normal human behaviour just doesn't work for them but I was lost. I was in tears and I had no will or energy to say anything to defend Sherlock's father.

"Mrs Hudson loved me. You love me. Scarlet loves me. And now Mrs Hudson is dead and… and… and…" he sobbed the sentence away.

His face suddenly changed and he sat up. "I'm going to be sick again."

I handed him Scarlet's bucket, always on hand in the corner now, and watched as he tried to master himself. I was feeling fairly nauseated myself and wished I could escape to cry properly for a moment. I stroked him until he calmed down again, then I turned his face to me.

"Sherlock, listen to me. You will not feel this way forever. Trust me. You will not."

He shook his head. "But I was seven. And I still feel this way now!"

"But you won't forever. Listen to me now. You're agitated right now. You're grieving. You're also starving yourself and you need some proper sleep. We're going to sort all of that out and you will feel better, but you also need to hear this: bad things don't happen just because you make mistakes. Things just happen, OK? It's not all your fault. Scarlet isn't your fault, Mrs Hudson isn't your fault. The fact that your Dad was… The fact that he was evil and, and _stupid_ wasn't your fault. You weren't locked on your own in a cellar because you made a mistake, you were locked in the cellar because he was and idiot. It was his fault; not yours. Do you hear me now?"

I didn't think he had, but he nodded anyway.

"I feel dreadful," he told me. He was shaking again.

"Yes. But I can fix that because I'm a very, _very_ good doctor. Now I'm going to take you back upstairs and we're going to have another go at calming down and drinking something."

"You won't leave me?"

"No. I won't."

"Good."

"OK, so do we have a plan? You'll listen to me and we'll get you better?"

"Will I still be me?"

I frowned at him. "I'm still me, aren't I?"

He frowned back. "I didn't used to think so." He took a couple of deep breaths and for the first time in a while I saw him try to assert control of himself. It wasn't much, but I rejoiced that there was something in there that was responsive. "I think I like you better now so it doesn't matter that you changed."

I wiped eyes and smiled at him. "Better than I used to be, heh? Wow, I must be amazing now."

He snorted and I had another flash of hope. "Maybe I'll get wiser too," he suggested.

"Well let's not look for miracles," I told him. He smiled again then faltered and I pulled him towards me for a moment. I held his head to my chest and leant down to kiss his hair.

"Come on, Sherlock. Let's get you up again."

"Can I have a bath?"

I nodded. "Yes, if you can drink some water first. I'll go and run it."

I left him on the sofa while I went to get water and to clean the bucket and to start the bath. As I watched the water pour in I had a moment when I thought I'd cry without stopping. I found it difficult to get the image of the boy Sherlock, frightened and in the dark, out of my head. I allowed myself a few minutes of pity and anger before I forced myself to calm down so that I could go back downstairs to Sherlock.

He was perfectly calm when I returned, and he didn't question the fact that I'd been longer than was necessary. For a moment I felt overpowering amounts of love for him. For the fact that even after all he'd been through, he was able to trust me so readily.

He looked at me, surprised about something.

"John, I feel better."

"Really? That's good."

"Not physically. I still feel seconds from death, but the head-noise has gone all quiet."

I had doubts about this, but I decided not to air them now.

"Good. Good, well, let's get you into that bath."

"Do you think I could not take the medicine now? Because the noise has stopped?"

I looked at him. On the one hand I was concerned that he'd spiral straight down again, especially if he found the noise came back at night. On the other hand, it was more usual for him to refuse medication, especially if he thought it might affect his brain-power, and I was pleased at this glimpse of him returning to normal.

"We'll see," I told him eventually. "Let's sort first things first. Let's get you into the bath and into a clean bed, and we'll have another think about food and then we'll see."

He nodded at me and let me help him to his feet.

* * *

**Right. As an apology for these two quite traumatic ones, how would you like to see something from Mycroft's POV?  
**

**Also, thank you once more for reading, and for my wonderful reviewers. Pip xxx**


	35. Mycroft

**Less angsty now! Promise! Thanks for sticking with me, and for your delight (hopefully), we're about to hear from Mycroft. Pip xxx**

**

* * *

**_The Saturday still._

When we were settled in the cab, Gregory asked me if I was all right. I wondered why I wouldn't be for a moment, but it occurred to me that he probably wondered if I was struggling with the death of Mrs Hudson, the way everyone else appeared to be.

Losing Mrs Hudson was upsetting. I knew that she was immensely helpful to Sherlock and John as a source of babysitting and housekeeping and there was an annoying nag at the back of my mind that suggested I should find someone similar to rent the vacant flat but I was fairly sure it would be too soon to mention this now. I told him I was fine.

He said "Poor Sherlock," very quietly and I nodded my agreement but had little useful to say, so I remained quiet.

I suggested we took Scarlet to the Westfield shopping centre, as I hadn't seen it since work was completed and she agreed readily enough. When we got there, as the cab drove away I realised this was an entirely new experience for me. The scale of the place was quite shocking.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

Scarlet shrugged at me. "Shops."

I looked at the vastness of the building. "But how do you know which ones? To visit each of the shops here would take days!"

Gregory was amused. "I'm sure Scarlet knows what she's doing, Mycroft. You know where you go and buy your own clothes from, don't you?"

I certainly did. "I call my tailor to make me some."

For some reason they both found this extremely funny but couldn't say why.

"What? Even… even pants?" Scarlet asked.

I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to discuss my underwear purchases with her, but she was completely unembarrassed so I tried to be too.

"Anthea orders them for me. They just arrive."

This appeared to be very funny too. I decided not to be concerned and just enjoy the fact that Scarlet was laughing again.

She was a particular joy that day. I know that both John and Sherlock had dropped hints that Scarlet was becoming moody and unpredictable and that they'd had a number of difficulties with her behaviour. I decided they must have been mistaken because she was perfectly charming that day with Gregory and me.

She did indeed seem to know what she was doing. Though she'd never seen the touch screen help-stations before, she quickly found out what she needed. Sherlock's always been the same, able to pick up pretty much any piece of technology and use it as if he'd known it for years. Scarlet was about to set off when she stopped and started looking for her phone.

"I forgot… Dad… how much," she explained.

"Oh I asked him," I told her. Of course I had no intention of letting John pay, but I was concerned Scarlet would fret if she thought I was paying. "He said you could have up to a thousand pounds." Her eyebrows shot up into her hair and Gregory, behind her, shook his head and lowered his hands. "Sorry, did I say a thousand? I meant five hundred… three hundred… sorry, Scarlet, one hundred and fifty pounds on practical, usable clothing." Gregory gave me the thumbs up.

Scarlet looked at me through narrowed eyes and I was sure she suspected something, but she didn't challenge me. I suppose, at eleven, she isn't used to challenging her elders. It did lead me to wonder what on earth Sherlock had been teaching her though. Certainly at the same age he would have no compunction about calling any adult a liar. Thinking about it, this may have been the source of some of his difficulties.

Poor, emotional Sherlock. No matter how often I told him to just let things lie, he just couldn't do it.

There was no point fretting about him then and I decided that trying to work out what Scarlet's brain contained.

She made an interesting study. She seemed to observe more than I'd expect for a child of her age, and I wondered if it was on account of Sherlock's influence.

There was one moment when she was staring quite hard at a youngish single-mother out with her two children of about three and five. It was perfectly clear to me that the woman was working a cash-in-hand to avoid paying income tax. She worked nights as a cleaner and she had concerns about childcare while she was out. It took me five seconds to work this out while viewing her reflection in a tea-pot as we stopped for a coffee. Scarlet had been staring quite obviously for two minute, but I forgave her lack of subtlety because she was still so young.

I was eager to learn what she had noticed though. She was surprised when I asked her. It occurred to me she didn't realise she was being observed at the same time.

"I'm just curious," I told her, "to hear your reflections on the woman who's caught your attention."

Gregory rolled his eyes, but Scarlet was well bred enough to give an answer when asked a question.

"I, er, her… boots. They're… awesome."

Gregory grinned.

"But you've been staring for ages!" I told her.

She shrugged. I have noticed this is one of her favourite methods of communication, but she did give me more information.

"Jeans too small, t-shirt… shirt clash, but shirt... nice. Jacket not hers. Boots are great, outfit doesn't match. Oh, she needs… er… hands need work. Good cream, manicure." She looked up at me and smiled.

Gregory continued to grin happily. Later when we were following Scarlet to another shop he pressed me on it.

"You wanted her to be like you, didn't you! You wanted her to be able to do that thing that you and Sherlock do."

"She has skills, Gregory! I've sent the way she moves through a shop. And not just shops, out here too, she'll walk through and her eyes just dance over everything, taking things in. She'll walk through and within minutes she'll have isolated the items that require greater attention."

"Yes. The girl knows how to shop, I'll give her that."

I was annoyed with him. "You know, Gregory, you're more than welcome to go home at any time you like."

"No, I'm having fun, actually. Observing you observing her. Besides, I'm not entirely convinced you should be allowed out on your own."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm managing perfectly well."

"Really? You almost gave a twelve year old a thousand pounds of spending money."

This rankled slightly. "I'd have noticed my error quite quickly, thank you!"

"Yes. I'm wondering how quickly she'd have made an inroad to that money before you'd have noticed. She's not stupid you know, she knows when to use an advantage."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I was in fact feeling slightly out of my depth. I had questioned some of Scarlet's choices. I couldn't get her interested in a very pretty frock in a boutique called 'Laura Ashley', but she just laughed again. She seemed eager to buy several garments from noisier, busier shops that seemed to be half finished. She tried to explain the principles of something called 'layering' but I didn't quite understand why you wouldn't just by one garment that would be warm enough by itself.

She commented that I was wearing a tie, but I wasn't entirely sure what the connection was. I had a slight suspicion that I'd missed the point. Certainly one of us had.

I was able to draw the line at a very tiny bag that was being sold for ninety-five pounds.

"For school?" she suggested, but I was aware enough to point out that the bag in question would barely hold her purse, and would not be remotely practical for school books and gym kit. She looked so forlorn on leaving it that I quietly suggested to Gregory that I could buy it for her to use as a pencil case, but he pointed out that a ninety-five pound pencil case would be an extremely extravagant purchase. Besides which, he told me that John would probably confiscate it. And punch me. While I doubted the latter, I was sure he would be extremely sarcastic so I left the bag behind.

I was relieved when we were able to stop for lunch.

I enjoy talking with Scarlet for two reasons. The first, is that she is an interesting person. She is still at the age where her point of view changes and adapts and absorbs other points of view. I find it odd to see how she has this flexibility, yet she always argues her position as if each statement is an absolute, unshakable certainty. On occasions where her mind is changed, she can often become sulky with it, but I imagine that's simply a familial trait she's inherited from Sherlock.

The other reason is more complicated. I have noted that some people have an extraordinary gift with conversation. They seem to converse with half a mind on what someone is saying, but when they respond, they do so based on what the other actually means. It's common in people who have long established relationships. Siblings converse like this all the time (though unfortunately neither Sherlock nor I have ever managed it). Long established couples can do it too and it is no surprise to me that John and Sherlock barely finish sentences at all in their daily life with each other.

I do not have this ability. I cannot listen to someone's words and understand the subtext. I know, because I am clever, that there are times in my work when the skill is essential, and I spend an enormous amount of time researching the background of anyone I may enter into conversation with, then using these details, I analyse their words to make connections. But it doesn't not come instinctively to me at all.

One of the reasons I like talking with Scarlet, is that I am regularly required to fill in the blanks. Sherlock has suggested that speaking for her is rude, and while I can't see it myself, I enjoy guessing what she means and keeping score in my head.

However, even with the practise, I acknowledge that this is not one of my strengths. I have to admit feeling slightly jealous when I meet perfectly ordinary people who have this insight without any work at all. John of course has this gift, and so, to a lesser extent, does Gregory.

He looked over at her now and quietly asked Scarlet if she was OK.

I was surprised. If there was any indication that she wasn't OK, I hadn't noticed it but suddenly she was looking somewhat worried.

"I keep... keep, um forgetting. About Mrs Hudson."

I wondered how on Earth she could forget the person who lived downstairs from her in the space of twenty-four hours.

"I think you must be very worried about Sherlock today, aren't you?" Gregory said to her. She nodded her head. "I think," he went on, "that Mrs Hudson would be worried about him today too. I don't think she'd mind that you weren't thinking of her every second."

She nodded. I noticed that she had tears in her eyes now and wondered why Gregory would choose a subject that would be so upsetting for her.

After a moment, she looked at him. "Will Sherlock... will he..." She stopped. It was evident to everyone what was concerning her, but Gregory didn't push her or leap in, so I decided not to either. After a moment, she said; "Never heard him... seen him like that."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and I made a mental note to buy her some good quality linen handkerchiefs. I knew that she hadn't seen much last night, but I suspected her imagination was quite ably filling any gaps. Gregory and I had not been able to distract her at all.

"I've seen him like that," I told her. "He got better then and he didn't even have John to help him that time. I've no reason to doubt he can recover again."

"Really?"

"Yes, many years ago when he was addicted to drugs..." She appeared to startle as I said this, and Gregory looked alarmed. "Sorry, no, I was thinking of someone else." I finished, somewhat lamely.

Scarlet suddenly had not concerns about challenging me.

"Drugs? Dad?"

I glanced at Gregory and he helped me. "Scarlet, it was a long, long time ago. It was a completely different situation, and you mustn't worry about it. Mycroft is right, he can and will get better, but really, the two situations aren't the same."

"Is he... did he... yesterday... was there drugs?"

"_Were _there drugs," I corrected her, and instantly I heard Sherlock's voice in my head, calling me a fuss-pot. "No, there were no drugs yesterday. You father... John is right, he's been under too much strain recently and losing Mrs Hudson was one thing too much."

"Strain... because of me." There were more tears.

"No, no..." I floundered. It was quite obvious that the answer was 'yes', but I was relatively certain that this wasn't something I should say.

"Look, Scarlet," Gregory said to her, "yes, it's true that sometimes he worries a little more about you than he otherwise would, but I honestly don't know a single parent who doesn't worry about their child. All parents worry; it's what they do."

"But this is worse."

"Maybe, but maybe not. I can guarantee you, even if you hadn't had the fall, John and Sherlock would be worrying about you constantly. You didn't cause this."

I was surprised. It was a very plausible lie, and Scarlet, though she appeared to have some doubts, did settle down slightly.

"It will be... um, strange. Mrs Hudson... not being there... any more," she said softly.

"Yes it will," Gregory told her.

"We can advertise for a replacement," I told her with a smile. They both looked at me as if I had two heads. I'd known it was too soon to make the suggestion.

I decided that thereafter my contribution to the meal should be silence. And a credit card.

Scarlet cheered up again, and the two of them started discussing football.

After lunch, we decided to go back to buy several items that Scarlet had been pondering over, but then leave and have a look at the second hand bookshops across town in Charing Cross Road. Scarlet and I whiled away a happy couple of hours there. Greg got bored quite quickly and made up a perfectly transparent excuse to go home, leaving me and Scarlet alone. I briefly worried about what I'd do if she got upset again, but we ended up talking about books.

It was about five that I noted Scarlet was tiring, so we got into a cab and I took her home. As we approached she started looking nervous and I wondered whether it would have been wiser to call ahead to check on the situation. As it was, I was pleasantly surprised to find Sherlock with John, sat at the kitchen table with evidence of tea and toast in front of him. He looked red-eyed, pale and tense, but he was basically fine. He didn't look like he'd be able to stand anything more happening at the moment, but Mrs Hudson wasn't likely to die again, so I decided he was fine.

Scarlet hugged him, and he held on to her briefly, and kissed her head. She took John into the lounge to get his approval of purchases.

Sherlock tensed for a moment, as John left his side, but he settled again and looked at me for a long while.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mycroft?" he asked me.

This was unprecedented and I was momentarily concerned.

"It's not going to be a habit," he assured me. "I'm feeling momentarily benevolent towards you. It won't last."

I smiled and watched as he quite capably made me coffee. I briefly wondered if I'd be more capable if, like him, I'd eschewed the cleaners and cooks. I decided it wouldn't be worth the experiment, and that I should let Sherlock be better than me at this. He handed me the drink, perfect for my taste, of course.

"Mycroft, I love you," he told me. I was stunned. I could only assume that this was residual effects of yesterday's breakdown.

"Do you love me?" he asked. He'd narrowed his eyes, clearly wanting to know the truth rather than just be comforted.

I wondered whether I did. Most of the time, I was just frustrated by him because he was so... frustrating. On the other hand, perhaps the reason he was so frustrating was because he mattered to me. I wondered why, after all these years of being annoyed by him, I hadn't bothered just walking away. The idea that this might be because of love was quite startling to me.

"Yes, Sherlock. I certainly think I might do," I told him.

He nodded calmly, absorbing and processing this information.

Scarlet went off to have her bath and John came back in. He rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's body instantly relaxed at his touch. I wonder if he'd noticed.

"Thanks for having her today, Mycroft," John said to me.

"It was entirely my pleasure."

"I'll transfer funds into your account on Monday, so don't think you've got away with that, but thank you for the thought all the same."

"John, if you do that, I'll be quite forced to go and buy her the ninety-five pound bag she coveted."

He laughed. I suspected he didn't take me seriously but I let it pass.

"Would you like me to stay here again tonight?"

"No, we're fine, thank you," he told me. "We'll contact you with funeral arrangements and the like when we're a little straighter."

I thanked him, finished my coffee and left.

I found I was completely exhausted after the day, and surprised myself by hoping for a major international diplomatic crisis to relax me a bit. I called for my driver and set off back home.

* * *

**Can I just say, there's nothing like writing someone who is meticulous with his grammar and word usage to make you feel like you know absolutely nothing about either!**

**I hope you enjoy! I'm not sure what's next but Eyebrows2 gave me a couple of ideas so I'll ponder them. I probably won't publish again until Mon/Tue though.**

**Pip xxx  
**


	36. Science Lessons

**OK, so I promised you an update on Tuesday and it's clearly already Wednesday. I have been asked for both one more story in the Mrs Hudson arc (written c. 1,000 words of this) and a view of the comeuppance of the nasty head teacher (not started yet).**

**Unfortunately, I am once again ill. Yes, I have no idea how my sodding body gets ill so damned often, but at this point, I'm assuming my body is just a lemon. Also like a lemon, it's quite rounded in the middle, and smells delightfully of citrus. I wish I could eat citrus, but I can't as it burns a whole through my chest.**

**I should get on with this before the delirium gets worse and before the current dose of painkillers wears off.**

**I thought I'd better put up _something_ because I do think of my loyal readers regularly, and do feel The Guilt of missing a promised chapter, but rather than do either of the more weighty chapters, I thought I'd give you something short and sweet. Not like a lemon.  
**

**Thanks for your patience! Pip xxx**

**

* * *

**_Scarlet is fourteen._

It was a hot June day and the residence of Baker Street were all enjoying the lazy heat. John was at the desk in front of the open window reading the newspaper. Scarlet had abandoned her homework books on the kitchen table, and was lounging on the sofa, flicking through the channels in search of something interesting to watch and eating an iced lolly. Sherlock was in the kitchen doing an experiment, the exact nature of which, neither of the others wanted to ask.

"Scarlet, love, would it be to much to ask you to settle on a channel, and watch it?" John asked her.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"'Cos I might miss something good."

"Check he TV guide, choose something, and watch it."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"'Cos something might look... rubbish, but be, er, good."

He sighed and went back to his paper. Scarlet smiled, enjoying the small victory. The TV wasn't remotely important and she was thinking of going to her room and drawing anyway, but she was pleased she had correctly judged that John wasn't actually in the mood for an argument and would cave in.

Her victory was short lived as Sherlock stormed into the lounge holding a slightly battered exercise book.

"Scarlet, what the _hell_ is this!" he demanded.

She sucked her lolly and considered. In a very short space of time, her thought processes were thus:

1) It was clearly her Science book. Even John could spot that, seeing as it had her name, form and the word 'Science' written on the front. Therefore, what Sherlock was interested in, clearly wasn't a literal answer.

2) What Sherlock was interested in now, might well relate back to the first Science lesson she'd had this school year, during which their teacher, Mr Newby, (or Nearly-Dead Newby as he was know among the students, and indeed, some of the faculty) made his pupils sit in his classroom performing two tasks. To whit;

2.a) Dividing each of the exercise book pages into rough divisions of two-thirds and one-third sections, for the purposes of working-out (two-thirds) and answers (one-third). Scarlet had quickly worked out that this was so he could just read below the 'answers' line rather than scanning through the whole book looking for parts that were worth marking.

2.b) Numbering the pages throughout the book. This was to prevent pupils pulling out the middle pages of the book when they were short of note-passing paper. Scarlet had quickly worked out that as far as Nearly-Dead was concerned, he didn't feel he needed to monitor their exercise books at all, having clearly outwitted them on the first day.

3) The difficulty she had was that she wasn't sure which transgression Sherlock was currently interested in.

3a) It might be that her grades had sparked his interest. She was an average student, and sadly lacking in a scientific skill, and at the beginning of the year her grades reflected this. Since about December, however, she was suddenly getting fairly consistent A and B grades. Nearly-Dead probably thought this was due to his excellent teaching methods. Scarlet knew that it was simply that she'd made friends with Anne-Marie, who was on the Talented and Gifted register and who let her copy her work in exchange for tattoo designs. She also knew that while Nearly-Dead wouldn't notice, it would take Sherlock no time at all to see that her brilliant answers were plucked from the sky, and bore no resemblance to her working-out.

3b) Alternatively, it might be that he had gone back through her book and noticed quite a large amount of non-science related conversations, with regular contributors with a variety of different handwriting. For what Scarlet and her friends had quickly noticed that Nearly-Dead had assumed that note-passing was impossible in his classroom. Indeed, non of his students had ever been caught with a note. This was because Scarlet and her friends were simply using the blank spaces left on earlier month's work. They crossed it all through afterwards, of course, but again, Sherlock would have the ability to read through scribble in a way that Nearly-Dead would not.

So as she looked at Sherlock now, she was trying to decide; which was he interested in right now? The cheating was obviously pretty bad and Sherlock would (rightly) be livid. On the other hand, she was painfully aware that one of the conversations written among February's work related to the possible size of James Aitken's cock, and she could imagine he wouldn't be too pleased about that either. She couldn't mention either one, for fear that that was the one that had gone unnoticed.

She decided her only way forward was Indignant Attack.

"It's my Science book! And you're not... supposed to go through my things!"

Sherlock's thought processes were substantially quicker than Scarlet's. Though to be fair to her, they were quicker than most people's.

1) She's using the Indignant Attack response. Is it valid? No, I'm an interested parent and allowed to check her work in her school books. It isn't, or shouldn't be, her diary.

2) Her speech is really coming on! I must remember to praise her at a more appropriate time.

3) That lolly looks good. I wonder if there are any left in the freezer.

4) In fact I appear to be quite hungry. Must remember to start whining at John when I'm finished here.

"Scarlet, I can see it's a Science book. What I want to know is what this is that you've written here!" he held the book to her and noted the nervous look on her face as she took it from him.

She looked at the book and the nervousness quickly gave way to relief followed by confusion.

"What? There's nothing there!" she said.

Sherlock frowned. "There's a page full of writing there, Scarlet! I'm asking you to read it out."

She looked again. After a moment, it occurred to her that he meant the list of instructions to do some experiment or other and was mildly embarrassed that she hadn't noticed the full page of text relating to science in a science book, simply because it was too ordinary for notice. She brushed the embarrassment off, deciding quickly that it was Sherlock's fault that she didn't see the mundane any more.

"Read this?" She asked.

"Yes, read it out to me. Come on!"

Scarlet sighed. "Step one, pour twenty-five mills of water into a beaker. Step two, add five mills of coarse rock salt. Step three, stir for the count of five. Step four..."

"No, stop, what was step three please?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stir for the count of..."

"What the hell is that?" he demanded again. She looked blank. "Scarlet, what precisely is a count of five?"

She gave him her 'you've gone mad' look. "You count to five," she explained, as if too a simpleton.

"No you don't!" Sherlock said, snatching the book back from her and waving it around. "You don't 'count' in science, Scarlet. If you need five seconds, you time five seconds. It's about _precision! _ You don't guess, you don't estimate! How, _how_ are you supposed to get any meaningful, _useful_ answers with this level of sloppiness!"

"Nearly... I mean Mr Newby won't let us have the, er, stopwatches because people steal them."

"But you have a watch!"

"No second hand." She held it up so he could see it. She was fairly sure in that instant he'd made up his mind to buy her a new watch and she wondered how to steer him to one of her own choosing before he actually purchased one.

"You have a timer on your phone!"

"Not allowed phones in class." She knew this to be an enforced rule as hers had been confiscated twice in as many days.

"But Scarlet! You need to protest! You simply cannot, _cannot_ do science this way! I expect better of you!"

He sat down beside her on the sofa, dropping her book on the coffee table as he did so. She relaxed and prepared herself for the coming lecture, relatively sure that he'd just carry on with no input necessary from her.

"It's shocking, Scarlet, that's what it is! Look at John here!" John, dozing on his hand startled and looked up. "John doesn't guess or estimate the correct dose of medicine for a patient..."

"What?" John interrupted while his brain got up to speed. "Actually, I kind of do, Sherlock."

"Sorry, what?"

"Well we do! All doctors do. Look at it this way, if I was in general practise and a sixteen stone rugby player came into the room with tonsillitis, I'd give him a seven day course of penicillin at twenty-five grams a tablet, three times a day. If he was followed by an eight stone woman with the same illness, she'd get exactly the same dose that I'd given him, even though the dilution in her blood would be greater because she's smaller. And it might not even mean that she'll get better before him, because her body might have a greater tolerance to antibiotics so the seven days, weaker blood-antibiotic ratio might be enough for him, but not for her."

"So you're saying that doctors _guess._" Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose.

"No, not _guess_ exactly. Just, it's not as simplistic as you'd think when you're dealing with people."

"But it's science!"

"Yeah, sort of. But I've said for years that medicine is more of an art-form than you'll give it credit for."

Sherlock glared at him and turned back to Scarlet. "OK, ignore John, because John is clearly _useless!"_ John rolled his eyes. Sherlock wondered if he'd scuppered his chance of a home cooked meal but stayed focused. "Scarlet, you can't guess this sort of stuff and if Mr Newby has indicated otherwise, then he needs to be pulled up for it! Science classrooms need to be equipped with scientific equipment and if that means paying for the loss of a few stopwatches, then that should be what happens! I'll mention it to Alan next time I see him."

Scarlet sighed. The day that Sherlock had got onto first name terms with her headteacher was number two of her 'five most horrific days at school' list. Number one, was the day Mycroft had bought the school a new Art and Music block, complete with a small theatre which he had insisted should be named after her, rather than him. It had been announced in assembly and Scarlet had sat there while two thousand heads turned to look at her. She'd rewarded them with a cherry-red blush. It was a very generous act, John had reminded her, and as she'd seethed. Knowing that her head-teacher was on speed-dial on her Dad's phone was particularly excruciating but at least she had the hope that no-one would find out.

"Don't look like that, Scarlet, it's important." Sherlock went on. "It's your education! Nothing in my life is more important than your education!"

"Hello! Sat right here!" John said, waving.

Sherlock ignored him. "And another thing, while we're on the subject; stop cheating. I don't know who you're copying from, but it stops now. You're clearly struggling with Science so I will sit with you and help with your homework every Tuesday evening until you're back on track..."

"Nooooo!"

"No, not 'no', '_yes_'. In fact, 'yes, and thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to help me, Father Dearest. I greatly appreciated it.'"

She pouted. John sniggered to himself.

"And another thing," Sherlock gently turned her head by the chin so she was looking at him. "Any experiments relating to the size of James Aitken's cock are strictly prohibited. Understand?"

He released her and she stood up, snatched up her science book and stormed upstairs. She was half way up when she started smiling happily to herself. There was nothing like a good prohibition to get her creative juices flowing...

* * *

**Extra authors notes: **

**I have no idea what the correct dose of antibiotics for tonsillitis is. **

**For my readers in America; an exercise book is not a book full of exercises, but a smallish, lined, blank note-book for pupils to write in. You usually get one per subject, though I admit, I haven't been to school in some time and I may not be up to speed with advancements there. Still; we don't use scrolls of parchment and quills either, so I think I'm allowed to talk about exercise books here.**

**And with that, I'm going back to bed to whimper to myself in a thoroughly self pitying fashion.**

**Pip xxx**


	37. Celebration

**Hi there, a couple of people indicated that they'd like to see one more chapter of the Mrs Hudson story arc to give her a proper send off. This was started about 10 days ago, and I'm very sorry you've had a long wait for it. Thanks also for your very kind get well soon wishes. I was a bit more ill than I thought, but I'm on some good drugs now and getting better by the day.**

**Oh, and again for those in a tough place right now, despite the cheery title this one may be a touch emotional. Not to the level of the first two Mrs Hudson chapters, but still.**

**

* * *

**_Immediately following 'Mycroft'._

John leaned against the wall looking at Sherlock. He looked old and exhausted, in pyjamas and his oldest, most threadbare dressing gown. After a moment he glanced up at John.

"Are you OK?" John asked.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "I'm as OK as I was when you asked me half an hour ago. To repeat my previous answer, I'm fine. I think I'm fine."

"OK, well that's good enough for now. I'll make you some more tea."

He bustled around the kitchen, put a cup of tea in front of Sherlock, sat down, and caved to the feeling of needing to worry over Sherlock a bit. He stared at him.

Sherlock stared back.

"Forgive me, John," he said, "but you're being extremely irritating right now."

"Sorry." He continued to stare at Sherlock.

"As good a doctor as you might be, I doubt that you've cured anyone ever by staring at them. Annoyed them into an early grave possibly, but not cured them."

John smiled at him.

Sherlock sighed. "I'm shattered. I can think if I really concentrate hard but mostly I don't want to. Mostly I want to think in terms of small things. Tea. Tea is a small thought. Tea is a nice thought."

"I've always thought so. Well, let's not worry about anything else for now."

"John, what did I do yesterday?"

"What do you remember?"

"Not a lot. More bits and pieces are coming back occasionally. I can remember not wanting to get off the bed and Mike being there and being... terrified, absolutely terrified of Mike and..." He broke off for a moment, not sure he could explain what he was terrified of, even if he could remember. "I know you were there. I know you didn't leave me alone. Thank you for that, by the way."

"You're welcome. Just so you know you'd have to work harder than that to have me running for the hills."

Sherlock smiled again, and then yawned. "Did you give me some of the yawning pills? I can't believe I feel this tired when I slept so long."

"No, different pills. You're tired because your body and brain have been under tremendous strain. It'll take you a couple of days to get over it. Weeks, possibly."

"Or I could just go to work. That usually fixes it."

"Not on your life. If you tried it, I would be forced to kill you."

Sherlock looked at him, trying to work out if this was a genuine threat or not. After a moment he shook his head. "Fine, I suppose it's not worth the risk."

"Good. Right, are you hungry?"

"No."

"Well, you have to eat something."

"I've eaten something. I ate toast."

John dismissed this. "You think about what you could manage and I'll go and summon Scarlet."

He wandered up to Scarlet's room, stopping off in the bathroom to pick her wet towel up off the floor with a world-weary sigh. He knocked on her door. When there was no answer he knocked again, louder and called out to her. He rolled his eyes and tentatively pushed her door open. As predicted she was absolutely fine, dressed in her pyjamas and her comfort jumper, with her guitar strapped over her shoulder and her headphones on. He watched her for a moment then walked up behind her and gently pulled her hair.

She shrieked and spun round.

"You're supposed to... to... to...knock!" she said, looking at him, crossly.

"I did. You're supposed to answer. Are you coming down for some food?"

"Dad..."

"Mm."

"Sherlock... he took drugs."

"What?"

"Mycroft said..."

John felt his anger rising and fought it to try to have a sensible conversation.

"Yes. A long, _long_ time ago, Sherlock used to take drugs. But it was ages ago, Scarlet and it's really not relevant right now."

"What did he... what did he take?"

John chewed at his lip for a moment. "OK, well I'm not entirely sure because it was before he and I..." he thought for a moment. He knew Sherlock had been drug free since they'd been together, but when they first knew each other and they were just flatmates, there had been times when he had wondered. "OK, Scarlet, can you just accept my word that Sherlock hasn't touched drugs since before you were born?"

"But yesterday..."

"No, yesterday wasn't about that. It wasn't and it was utterly wrong for Mycroft to suggest otherwise..."

"No! No... he..."

"Please, Scarlet, we will have a conversation about this. We will, at some point, answer all your questions, but not tonight, OK?"

Her eyes brimmed again and he briefly cursed himself.

"No, Scarlet, please don't cry! You're not wrong to ask, you're really not, but I just need you to be a bit patient with us. This isn't the right time. I can't answer your questions because I don't know, but Sherlock's just not in the right place right now. Please?"

She wiped her eyes and nodded her head. "I didn't mean..."

"I know. And I didn't mean to snap. Come here." He pulled her into a hug. "Will you go downstairs and see if you can get Sherlock interested in any form of food?" She nodded. "Thanks, love."

He followed her downstairs, stopped to grab his phone and headed upstairs again.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called after him.

"Phone call. I'll be back in a second."

John shut the bedroom door behind him and dialled Mycroft's number.

"John..."

"Don't 'John' me!" John yelled at him. "What the buggery-fuck do you think you're doing telling Scarlet about Sherlock's drugs today of all days!" He didn't wait for an answer. "Don't you think she's got one or two other things to worry about right now? You don't think she's already scared out of her wits about him? And don't think that he needs a tiny bit of breathing space before his eleven year old daughter starts questioning him about a past he's not exactly proud of? No! No you didn't think at all because you're a bloody, fucking imbecile! But no, don't worry about me at all, Mycroft, and the fact that I'm left trying to hold the pieces of both of them together! Don't worry at all! Just stay the fuck away from us!"

He hung up, flung the phone onto the bed and leaned against the door, breathing hard. After a few moments he walked over to the bed, picked up his phone and dialled Mycroft again.

"Hello?" Mycroft answered, tentatively.

"I apologise for shouting at you," John said.

"It's quite all right."

"Thank you."

"I apologise for mentioning the drugs to Scarlet."

"That's... less all right. But we'll deal with it. Right, I have to go now."

"Fair enough."

John hung up again and headed back downstairs. Scarlet and Sherlock both watched him walk into the room, Scarlet looking alarmed, and Sherlock slightly amused.

"Who were you yelling at?" Sherlock asked.

John blushed, wondering how much he had heard. "Mycroft," he muttered.

"I thought we liked Mycroft now?" Sherlock said to him. "Because of the lock thing."

"We like him for that. He's still a bloody fool though."

"Well, yes. I did suspect it."

"He's... nice," Scarlet said, looking angry.

The other two looked at her for a moment, and then John nodded. "Actually, he is. He really is, so don't look that way, Sherlock. He's misguided sometimes, but generally he wants the best for people. Well, for some people anyhow. Well, for us. Right; food? I'm not cooking; it's too late and I'm too tired, but I'll go and get whatever or order or... whatever."

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock said.

"I know but..." John started.

"I'm not... either," Scarlet said, staring at the table.

John sighed. "OK, you know what? Toast. Toast and..." he looked in the fridge and through cupboards. "Toast and hummus, or jam or peanut butter or chocolate spread."

"Chocolate spread," they chorused behind him.

"Fine. We'll have a toast feast and start eating properly tomorrow." He stuck some bread in the toaster.

"We should... we should cook, cook, er Mrs Hudson's... food," Scarlet said.

John looked at her. "Now?"

"No, toast now. But... she... she didn't like, er, waste. She liked... she liked to feed us. We should, er, cook her stuff. All of it. We should get, er, her, er..." She screwed up her face in concentration. "Church people... tomorrow. They could, they could come and... eat it. She liked to... feed people."

"Scarlet, that's a lovely idea," Sherlock said.

"It is a lovely idea, Scarlet." John agreed. "It's short notice but I bet if I call St Andrews in the morning, they could mention it after mass. In fact it's not late, I'll call them now."

"You sure?" Sherlock asked him. "You'll have to do all the cooking."

"It's fine. And Scarlet can help. In fact she can finish the toast now in practise. We'll do something after the funeral too, but this is a nice stop-gap." He went into the lounge to find his phone.

"Don't... shout... at the... at the priest!"

"I won't! Thank you, Scarlet."

Later, when Scarlet had gone to bed, John reverted to watching Sherlock closely. They went to sit in the lounge to stare at the TV for a bit.

"Are you..." John began.

"I'm _fine._" Sherlock said. "I'm perfectly fine."

"OK then. Good."

Sherlock looked across to him. "Should we have the argument now?"

John sighed. "They're not actually anti-depressants, Sherlock. Well they are in higher doses, but I'm not suggesting that to you at the moment. I'm suggesting the lower, sedative dose because I don't want you lying in bed, unable to sleep with your mind taking over more and more."

"I really don't think I'll have any trouble sleeping tonight. I'm shattered. I promise you."

"Yeah, I know you keep saying that, but you were shattered yesterday too, and you still didn't sleep and that's been going on for weeks. Besides, every muscle in your body is screaming 'tension' and I think when it comes down to it, you'll lie down and in less than thirty seconds you will find yourself bombarded by your own thoughts."

"Like last night."

"No, probably not that bad. But you still won't be able to sleep, and that's going to cause more problems at some point."

Sherlock sat quietly and thought for a bit. He bit his thumbnail until he noticed John watching him and stopped.

"How about a compromise?" He suggested. "We'll go to bed as normal, and if after half an hour I'm still awake and know I can't sleep, I'll take the damned stuff then."

John smiled. "Out of interest, how easy do you find it to go to sleep on a deadline?" Sherlock pouted and John smiled at him. "You don't, do you. That's why you'd rather stay awake and work all night than try and get a few hours here and there."

Sherlock's hand went to his mouth again and he continued to bite his nail. John snatched the hand away and held it for a while.

"You don't do that, remember. You're calm and poised."

Sherlock smiled and looked down at the joined hands. John's had a light bandage wrapped around it.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Oh, nothing. I knocked it yesterday."

Sherlock looked at him sharply. "Why are you lying to me, John? Don't do that!"

"It's fine, Sherlock," he tried to pull away but Sherlock held his wrist firmly and started unwrapping the bandage. "Look you squeezed it a bit, OK! I didn't want you to see the bruise and get upset."

Sherlock ignored him and continued to unwrap the bandage. He paled when he revealed the marks. "What, John!" he said, "I squeezed it with my _teeth!"_

"Don't get upset..."

"How can I not! Shit, John, I bit you!"

"You didn't mean to!"

"I bit you! What do you think I was I trying to do?"

"I... I don't know, Sherlock, but I'm pretty damned sure that you weren't in your right mind at that moment. You didn't think 'I'm going to bite John to cause him pain.'"

"I don't _care_, John!" He wiped tears away, and started looking extremely agitated. "My motivation is irrelevant! What if it had been Scarlet? What if I'd have done something... what if I'd... John I don't _ remember _this!"

John held him firmly by the shoulders until he became still. "Sherlock, you had a nervous breakdown yesterday. Now I'm fairly confident that you will get better without an awful lot of intervention, but you need to settle down, take some rest, eat some food, and please trust me. Please. I can help you with this."

"But your _hand!"_

"Will also get better. Could you please calm down now? This isn't helpful."

Sherlock quietened a bit, sat back and stared at the ceiling.

"Nervous breakdown?"

"Yes, it's just a term, don't get upset."

"I preferred 'threw a nutty'."

John smiled. "Yes, I thought you might."

"Don't tell Mycroft."

John glanced at him, wondering how sibling rivalry could be so ingrained to think about that at a time like this. "No. That's fine." Under his breath he added, "I'm sure he didn't notice anything at all."

Sherlock glared. "Give me the pills then."

"You don't have to take them until bedtime."

Sherlock turned his head to look at him. "Well that's not a dramatic conclusion to the argument, is it!" He smiled at John but the fear and stress was still evident in his eyes.

John smiled back and took his hand. "You are going to be fine, Sherlock. We'll keep a closer eye on you in the future, but this isn't actually the be all and end all of life. Consider it a blip, that's all."

Sherlock leant against him and stared at the television again, absent mindedly stroking the marks on John's hand with his thumb.

oOo

The following morning found Scarlet curled up asleep on the sofa while Sherlock sat next to her, reading a book. She stirred slightly, and he glanced down as she opened her eyes.

"Are you back with us?" Sherlock asked.

Scarlet rubbed her face for a moment. "Lemon cupcakes." She removed her hands and looked surprised. "Sorry. I'm with you." She rubbed her face again. "No warning for that one."

"No, it took us by surprise too."

"I'm... supposed to be... helping John."

"Yes, you're supposed to be making lemon cupcakes. However, I think John would claim you are helping by keeping me from under his feet."

She smiled, rubbed her head some more and sat up.

"You feel OK?" Sherlock asked her.

"Headache. Normal one though." She frowned. "Backache."

"You hit a table on your way down. Sorry, we weren't quick enough to catch you. I'll get you some paracetamol."

"I'll get... have a shower. Back in a sec."

She disappeared for a bit and returned clean and in new clothes. She put her clothes and the blanket she'd been wrapped in in the washing machine. Sherlock watched her with a smile.

"I made you a tea. And there's paracetamol there too."

"Thanks." She took the pills quickly with no fuss and settled down with her tea. "Not hot chocolate?"

"We've run out. Anyhow, you're growing up. It's starting to feel odd offering you milk or hot chocolate all the time."

She smiled again and glanced over with him. "How long was I?"

"Seizing for just under a minute, asleep for about forty-five." He used the term 'asleep' to relate to the staring, confused blankness she had after a fit as well as actually sleeping, but she understood this.

"We should get back... to help John."

"Let's give it a minute. He's happy organising and creating stuff."

She didn't miss the look on his face and she sucked on her lips a moment.

"Sherlock, are you OK?"

"Yes."

"I mean... being, um, downstairs?"

He sighed and nodded. "Yes. I thought I wouldn't be, but actually, I like being down there."

"I've always... It's nice down there."

"It's not the same now though."

"No. Sherlock... are you... What happened? The other night?"

"We think, well, John thinks that I've been under too much strain and my brain just gave up a bit."

"Do you... agree?"

He paused for a moment. "I think I do, but I don't want to. Can you understand that? I think he's right, but it means admitting that my body, or more importantly my brain, failed, and I don't like that. I don't want to be considered 'ill', and I don't want to take the tablets he's got for me."

She nodded slowly. "You get used to it though. It stops being... important. At first, it's like all you are, but that goes. And the pills, they're not... hard to swallow if you have... water, lots of water... in a big mouthful. After a while, it all gets a bit... er... routine. And it's better than... better than being ill."

He stared at her and took a deep breath. "Scarlet, you're doing that thing again."

"What?"

"Making me feel incredibly humble."

She gave him a quick, confused smile and took another mouthful of tea.

They heard the sound of John's footsteps coming up the stairs and looked up as he came into the kitchen.

"Oh, you're up again, marvellous. I need to use our oven for this." He carried a roasting dish with a large joint of beef smothered in salt, oil and herbs on it. Scarlet and Sherlock shuffled their chairs closer to the table so he could get passed. He fussed with the oven for a while and turned round with a very satisfied look on his face.

"Did you make a tea for me?" he asked.

"No. Sorry, did you want some?" Sherlock said.

"I wouldn't say no. You stay here and make me one, Sherlock, and when the oven's preheated you can put the meat in."

"How will I know?"

"The light goes off. And you know it does, Sherlock, you're only pretending to be incompetent. Scarlet, you ready to come and help again?"

She nodded brightly and followed him downstairs again.

oOo

John had dressed in a shirt and tie, and after thinking about it for a moment, Sherlock had done so too. John had told Sherlock that he didn't need to attend, and didn't need to stay longer than he felt comfortable many times, until Sherlock had snapped, shoved him into Mrs Hudson's pantry, and refused to let him out until he settled down.

He relented when people started to arrive, but this was mostly because he didn't want to answer the door.

They had what John called a good turn out. Sherlock felt there were too many people in the flat and cynically felt that many of them had turned up because of free food and to have a snoop around Mrs Hudson's flat. He felt ashamed of himself after a while though, as so many of them came to offer him sympathy and to share stories of Mrs Hudson. He got the distinct impression that most of them had a picture of him being some sort of mad inventor, but most people told him how proud Mrs Hudson was of him and John and Scarlet.

John was in his element, chatting to everybody, making sure everyone was well fed and had enough to drink. Scarlet mostly nodded and smiled at people and lingered close to either John or Sherlock. Despite his earlier protests, Sherlock felt overwhelmed after about twenty five minutes and slipped away upstairs to make himself some tea. He took a number of Scarlet's cakes with him.

He was surprised to find Mycroft in the flat upstairs.

"Sorry," he said, "it was a bit crowded downstairs so we thought you wouldn't mind me being up here."

"Did you come to visit us or to take part in the festivities downstairs?"

"To pay my respects to Mrs Hudson, of course."

"How did you even know?"

"John texted me. Can you make me a coffee?"

"I _can_ yes."

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, please would you kindly make me a cup of coffee? I would be extremely grateful."

"I bet you want one of those cakes too, don't you?"

Mycroft sighed dramatically. "Alas, I'm dieting. Again."

"I'll save you from yourself and eat them all."

Sherlock walked past him to turn the kettle on. "What did John yell at you about?"

"I rather think that's between me and him, don't you?"

"No. I'm married to one of you and unfortunately related to the other. I'm within my rights to ask."

"Then I'll let John discuss it with you. There's no bad blood between us, he invited me here after all."

"Did he call back and apologise after he'd finished shouting?"

"Yes."

"The man has no backbone."

"Yes, Sherlock, the ex-army soldier who frequently follows you into difficult and dangerous situations, and who chooses to spend the rest of his time _married_ to you, is lacking in courage. Please don't make me remind you that you owe him you life several times over." He reached over for one of the cup-cakes.

"So is the real reason you won't tell me what you argued about that you're more scared of him than you are of me?"

"Of course." Mycroft said through a mouthful of cake. "Though I'm more scared of most people than I am of you."

They sat and drank coffee in a companionable silence for a while. After a while, Mycroft turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, are you..."

"Oh don't _you_ start." Sherlock muttered, hiding his face in his cup.

"I'm just concerned."

"Well don't be. We have everything under control. Well, John does."

Mycroft helped himself to another cake. "These are very good."

"Scarlet's work. I think Mrs Hudson spent some time giving her lessons."

"How did you live with Mrs Hudson and not get really fat?"

Sherlock frowned at him. "I have restraint, Mycroft." He slapped Mycroft's hand away as he reached for another cake.

"Traitor."

"It's for your own good."

"Sherlock, I'm not sure if I've said how sorry I am. For Mrs Hudson, I mean."

Sherlock stared at his coffee for a moment. He considered making some joke about there being less cake in the world now, but he settled for "Thank you."

They sat in silence for half an hour before Sherlock decided he ought to go downstairs again. He was completely unsurprised that Mycroft got up and followed him.

It was calmer in Mrs Hudson's flat now. Most of the people who had popped by just to pay quick respects had already left. John was sat on an armchair with his arm around Scarlet, who was perched next to him on the arm. There were three elderly ladies sat side by side on the sofa and an elderly gentleman on the remaining armchair.

One old lady was holding court as everyone else listened. Most of the food had been consumed by now. Sherlock immediately felt spare and went to perch on the windowsill behind John's chair. Mycroft loomed.

"Of course Martha would never truck any of Harold's nonsense," one old lady was saying. "One day I'd called the bank because I didn't want to come in and of course she saw through my excuses. Later on she pitched up on the doorstep and she gave him such a piece of her mind! There she was, shouting at him and beating him about his head with her handbag. I can remember the look on his face, you know. I'd never seen him so amazed before! Did you ever see Mrs Hudson angry, Doctor?"

"No. I think I got lucky."

"I did," Sherlock said. He leant forward with his arms on the back of John's armchair but didn't elaborate.

"Well, she took me aside that day and asked me straight out whether I wanted to stay with him, and that if I didn't, I could come to hers."

"I was surprised as anything that you didn't go straight away, Doris," one of the other ladies put in.

"Well, it wasn't what was done in those days, was it Kath," Doris said. "You didn't want to be the one who couldn't make your husband happy. There was shame in it. Anyhow, Martha sorted my head out properly when I went back to work. She watched me like a hawk of course. Harold didn't do anything else but she could see I wasn't happy. She took me aside once and gave me a piece of her mind too. She told me I was more valuable than I thought I was. I remember thinking that was such an odd thing to say, because what worth is there in any of us, but she explained it all right out. It took a while, but she made me feel like I could risk it without him. He got back to his old ways before long, and I packed us all up and went to her house. She opened the door and let us all in without a word of 'I told you so'. Later, he came round, drunk as a sailor and he broke her window and was banging on the door. She was calm as anything and just called the police to take him away.

"You, young lady," she said, nodding to Scarlet who startled. "You keep it fixed in your head, deary, there's no-one in the world that you need to make it through life. You don't need anyone but your own self and there's nothing you can't achieve. It might be small at first, like changing your own light-bulb or making the rent on time, but slowly it all builds up, and suddenly you've got something you can be really proud of. Martha came to my graduation to look after my two when I got my para-legal certificate. I was so proud that day."

"I bet she was too," John said.

"Oh yes. Martha had a lot of love to spare." There were several handkerchief's dabbing at eyes for a moment.

"She made the best beef cobbler too," the gentleman put in.

"Oh, Eddie, you only ever think from your stomach!" Kath said.

"I thought I knew Martha better than anyone, you know," the final old lady said. "We knew each other from school, then went to work in the bank together. The only thing that I could never understand was all this business in America." There was nodding from the other ladies, and eyes flicking between John and Sherlock. Sherlock rested his head on his arms.

"She was so steady and so wise with every single thing, then... suddenly she was off to America, then married, then back alone..."

The silence hung in the room for a moment.

"She was so proud of you boys though," Doris said. "She'd wanted children since she worked in the bank and I was ever so sad for her that it didn't work out that way in America. The way she talked about the two of you though. And as for the young lady..."

"Oh she didn't stop!" Kath agreed with a laugh. "I remember she came in when we were doing the flowers with all the news that her Doctor was having a baby! I think she talked of nothing else for the whole nine months. I don't even think Doris did that with her grandchildren!"

"And the knitting," Doris reminded her. "Every week there was another creation."

"I remember," John said, "She made so much that there weren't enough days for Scarlet to wear everything before she grew out of them! I've still got some in my wardrobe upstairs."

"Why keep them?" Scarlet asked. "Some other... other baby could have them."

"I see you've caught the no waste bug," John laughed. "Lot's has gone on to other children. Martha suggested we gave stuff to the women's centre, but there are one or two things that I've kept."

Scarlet frowned. "You're dead soppy," she said.

"I am," John agreed, squeezing her slightly.

"Well, Doctor, Mister Holmes, what help do you want with the clearing up?" Doris asked.

"Oh, we've got it all under control," John said, "I'm about to get the Holmes brothers onto it."

"I'll call my service," Mycroft said.

"Well if there's anything at all you need help with, you'll let us know. Me and the other's can be a force to be reckoned with too, so if you need any help at all, you just shout."

"I will, thank you, Doris."

"We'll all get out of your hair now. Thank you so much for this, Doctor Watson."

"You're very welcome. And I'll drop all the cans off to the soup kitchen tomorrow."

"You'll let us know about the funeral?"

"Of course." He got up to follow them to the door, said more goodbyes and closed it behind them.

"I'll get out of your hair too, I think," Mycroft said to him as he came back in.

John frowned. "Will you?"

"I think you'll find John wasn't kidding about the cleaning up," Sherlock told him.

"Too right. I've been cooking since five and I need a nap."

"You'd disapprove of me calling my service, wouldn't you?" Mycroft said.

"I would a bit. But it doesn't really matter. I'm just tired and want sleep and it all sorting." He looked over at Sherlock. "Are you OK?"

"I'm _fine_."

"Good. You can supervise the cleaning."

"I'll help," Scarlet said.

"You don't have to; you cooked."

"I'll still help."

As John left them to it and walked wearily upstairs, he could hear Sherlock explaining to Mycroft the concept of scraping food from plates before putting them in the sink. He could detect a faint note of smugness in his tone and he smiled to hear it.

"Welcome back, Sherlock, love," he muttered to himself.

* * *

**To say I'm relieved to get this one finished is a massive understatement!**

**What's coming next is a little arc with Sherlock and John solving a mystery at Scarlet's school set about six months before 'Science Lessons'. I am doing much better, but it's all going embarrassingly slowly so I'll update when I can, but will be surprised and delighted if it's any time before the weekend.**

**Thanks once again for your patience, reading, reviews and messages.**

**Pip xxx**


	38. Pneumonia

John's cab pulled up at the side of the road. Before he got out he could see Sherlock sat on a short wall looking distinctly dejected and forlorn. He could see Sherlock's head droop with each laboured breath. A uniformed policeman seemed to be lingering nearby, but didn't appear to want to get too close. He got out, paid the cab fare and wandered over to sit next to Sherlock.

"So... how's it going?" he asked.

"Fine." Sherlock growled, panting wheezily.

"So, you don't think you've over-reached in any way?"

"Fuck off."

"Sherlock, I told you to stay in bed. It is a fairly simple instruction."

"Greg..." Sherlock descended into a coughing fit. Because he was not a malicious man, John held him upright until he'd finished, then handed him a tissue to spit into. "... called."

"No he didn't. You intercepted police messages and came down here yourself."

Sherlock was silent, and focused on breathing short breaths that wouldn't make him cough. Greg appeared.

"Sorry, John, I couldn't stop him. I called you as soon as he turned up."

"Wouldn't let me look." Sherlock gasped.

"No, too right too. I said bed. I said fluids. I said antibiotics. I said stop being an absolute prick, Sherlock, and slow down. What is it going to take to get you to listen to me? Oh, I know," he looked up at the group of police, some of whom were doing a decent job of pretending not to listen. "Can anyone lend me handcuffs so I can restrain Sherlock?"

Seven sets of handcuffs were held out.

"He wants them for sex!" Sherlock called.

All but two sets disappeared again.

The call had been too much for Sherlock. He coughed for several minutes while John held him up again.

"Bet breathing isn't so boring now, is it?" John asked him when he'd finished. "Sherlock? Sherlock?" Sherlock's eyes flickered in his direction. "Sherlock, are you about to faint?"

"... no." Sherlock mumbled before pitching forward into John and Greg's waiting arms.

"Perhaps a lift home if at all possible?"

"Yep, sure," Greg said smiling.

"Oh, and let me know the names of the two chaps who were happy to lend us handcuffs at some point would you?"

* * *

**Yeah, so I've got pneumonia following last week's bronchial infection. I can attest it is not any fun at all and if Benedict Cumberbatch had it while working I'm very impressed with him. I can't make it to the kitchen without needing to rest for half an hour. So this is yet another stop-gap, and an apology for having nothing new. I'm hoping that my brain at least will have recovered slightly by some time next week and I'll try to get something up then, but at the moment I'm at 'tea, tea's a nice thought' levels.**

**In the mean time, please go and read Just For Fun if you haven't already. I've been re-reading and it's much better than this one. I've actually wondered about transplanting chapters One to Eleven into here as that's where the two stories split, but I'm too lazy. The later chapter 'Panic' is where I started wondering about this story.**

**Love and hugs to all as usual, the usual thanks for messages and reviews, and the usual apologies for not responding to each of them too.**

**Pip xxx**


	39. Grandchildren

**A couple of people, ds0julian most recently, and prior to that Mattsloved1 have asked for an older couple snapshot. Perhaps with them having to slow down. I think (sorry, memory's failing) someone else mentioned grandchildren.**

**This is by far the oldest I've made my characters, Just For Fun finished with the birth of Arthur (Spud), but I really fancied writing some light fluff for you all. I'm in a warm and fluffy mood. I've also been scouring the old reviews (thank you for the reviews!), and I've unearthed a couple of prompts I missed earlier on. What will be coming in the future is the following:**

**Resolution of the Bad Head Teacher – I roughly know what's going to happen, but this will take more brain power than I've got at the moment.**

**Mystery at the School, short arc (probably 3 chapters), again, needs brainpower.**

**Harry. I need to resolve what's happened with her. I know, but it will be angsty, and I'm not in the mood right now.**

**Mary's family. I've suddenly realised Aunty Helen's just vanished too, and I haven't told you about Mary's brother. This one needs firming up in my head.**

**Early days of their relationship, laying ground rules (I read this prompt less than 10 minutes ago and I already can't remember who gave it, nor can I find it again). This one is likely to be light and fluffy and probably next.**

**A coming out scene with Anderson and possibly also Donovan.**

**If you've got anything else you want to see, please do let me know.**

**Thanks again for your well wishes (I'm on the mend, but frustrated that I'm not able to do much of anything. Not like Sherlock, oh no, not at all). And apologies for the long Author's Notes on this one.**

**Pip xxx**

**

* * *

**Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Every morning he wondered how on earth it didn't simply fall in under the strain. He wondered, as he always did, whether Mrs Hudson had stared at the same ceiling, wondering the same thing, when Scarlet was young and completely oblivious to the presence of other people.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud... crash.

That would be Arthur. Sherlock couldn't remember the last time that boy put his feet on the bottom three steps.

A lighter, more mature step. Energetic. Aidan then. 'Good man,' Sherlock thought. 'Let her sleep in for a bit.'

More lighter but uneven steps as Mary-Anne followed her brother down. Arthur will have been instructed to wait at the top of the next stairs and Sherlock knew he'd stand as close to the steps as he could get, accepting the letter of the instructions, but not the spirit of them. Mary-Anne would be torn between mothering her little sister, and trying to get ahead of Arthur.

There was a gentler sound, just on the edge of his hearing. Shuffle-bump, shuffle-bump, shuffle-bump. Kitty, making her way down the steps in the safest way possible. Calm and precise, probably accompanied by a dreamy expression on her face. The sound changed as she reached the bottom and her little footfalls went happily through to Aidan in the middle bathroom for a nappy change.

He listened to the discussion taking place at the top of the stairs.

"You're not allowed to go down!"

"You're not either."

"I'm not, I'm waiting, you're getting too close, look you have to stand behind this line."

"No I don't."

"Dad! Can we go downstairs yet?" Arthur yelled.

A muffled negative from Aidan.

"We'll be really, really quiet!" Mary-Anne yelled at the top of her voice.

They didn't get the desired answer so they went back to taunting each other and Sherlock listened with a smile, digging his toes into the duvet with joy.

"You're not allowed down!" Arthur insisted.

"I'm not going down! I'm just staying here!"

"You're not allowed on the steps at all!"

"I am the top one."

"No you're not!"

"I am!"

"Dad! Mary-Anne's on the steps!"

"Dad! Arthur's telling tales on me!"

The sound of resigned footsteps and the children were released.

Arthur pushed past. Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud... crash. Mary-Anne following with a steadier, quieter tread. Her crash was almost as loud. Sherlock decided she'd gone up to jumping from the forth step, to keep up with her brother. Aidan following.

"Come on Kitty-cat!" he called back to her.

"I'm tumming! I'm fer-dumping down."

"OK well you fer-dump away." He followed the older children into the large kitchen-dining room that the majority of Mrs Hudson's flat had been converted into, leaving her bedroom for John and Sherlock and her spare room was Sherlock's personal study and refuge. This room was the most fascinating room in the world for the younger inhabitants of the house. There was a large family room on the floor converted from 221Bs old kitchen and living room, and an extra bathroom had been installed. John and Sherlock's room had become Scarlet and Aidan's room. The little girls shared Scarlet's old room, John's before that. The box room had been cleared and it's contents cleared into 221C, and that was Arthur's Very Own room.

Aidan occasionally fretted about where the new baby would sleep and various plans about sorting the basement flat once and for all had been floated and thought about then ignored in favour of 'it'll fit in somewhere'. Sherlock had his own plans to convert downstairs into the best playroom-come-den that any children ever had. He had plans for a whole lego room, and a science area, and an art area and book shelves everywhere. Unfortunately, his plans entirely needed John's full back up and John had gently suggested they just let the new baby arrive and settle in before they do more major renovations.

John stirred now. Sherlock was ever fascinated at John's ability to sleep through the noise of all the Life happening just outside his bedroom door. He looked over at Sherlock now, looking fuzzy headed.

"Troops up?"

"Just this last five minutes."

"No new baby then?"

"If there is, she did it extremely quietly in the night without telling anyone."

"She's going to be extremely pissed off."

"Yes. Right, I'm getting up."

"I'm right behind you."

Before they could move, small footsteps halted just outside their door. The door-handle turned slowly and the door inched open. A pair of startlingly blue eyes twinkled at them.

"Morning Puss-cat." Sherlock said.

Kitty took this as approval and she toddled in to get into the bed for morning cuddles. Sherlock held her closely. She was utterly unlike any child he'd ever met. She was so quiet and calm, just absorbing everything and processing it quietly all by herself with the look of someone who understood and accepted the entire universe. Affectionate too, wanting to stay and have cuddles while the other two tore away to discover the world. Sherlock indulged in the somewhat guilty thought that if he had a favourite grandchild, then it might well be Kitty.

"Dad! Kitty's in Grandad's room! I saw her go in!" Mary-Anne, the seeker of truth and injustice everywhere, yelled.

"Leave her alone," Aidan commanded.

Sherlock envisaged the looks of annoyance on the faces of the other two.

"Come on, John," he said. "There's a war to avert."

He got out of bed, picked up Kitty and took her through to breakfast. Arthur and Mary-Anne were already sat next to each other. Arthur took after his father, looks wise, and his dark hair and dark eyes made him look somewhat more mature than his six years.

"Good morning, Grandpa Sherlock!" he said. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Morning, Spud. I would like coffee, thank you. I'll make it though."

"I can do it!"

"I know you can. I'm just saying I will on this occasion."

Arthur accepted this without sulking or upset, and Sherlock thought again about how very like John he was. He was always calm and clear headed, always ready to look after his younger sisters and to mediate in any games. He felt he suddenly had some insight into the origin's of John. Sherlock admitted guiltily that if he had a favourite grandchild, then it might well be Arthur. He settled Kitty onto her high-chair and sat down with them.

John walked past them to put toast in the toaster.

"No new baby?" John asked him.

"Oh yeah, I forgot, baby was born last night."

Sherlock spun round to look at him. John looked aghast.

"What? Really?"

"No, not really. You should definitely ask Scar about it. She's in a fantastic mood after someone absolutely convinced her the baby would be born yesterday, and he knew for sure and he's never wrong about that sort of thing."

John smiled.

"I never said that!" Sherlock protested. "I just explained that it was my day on the sweepstake and that she ought to make an effort."

"Yes, she's particularly enjoying the sweepstake, and implications that she has somehow got some control over the situation. I should raise the issue as soon as he gets downstairs if I were you."

John sniggered.

"Grandpa John?" Mary-Anne piped up. "You know your heart?"

"I do."

"Why does it beat?"

"My heart beats for you, Moppet."

"Noooo! I mean, what makes someone's heart beat?"

"It pumps your blood all through your body."

"I _know_ that. I mean, why does it?"

"To carry food and oxygen around your body."

"I _know_ that too! But why? Why does the heart do that?"

Sherlock smiled. Having Mary-Anne was just like having Scarlet all over again. She had the same dark-blond, wild curls. The same blue eyes, not quite as dark as Kitty's, exactly like her mother's. The same smile and the same endless, endless questions.

"The heart is a muscle, sweetheart," John told her. "The only job it has to do is to beat over and over so that it can pump your blood through the whole of your body. A baby's heart starts flickering and beating when it's just a few centimetres long and still living inside it's Mummy. That's what it does, it's job is to beat."

Sherlock watched as she filed this knowledge. He knew beyond a doubt that if he had a favourite grandchild, it might well be Mary-Anne.

John handed cups of coffee to Sherlock and Aidan. He buttered toast, cut it up and put it on a plate in the middle of the table, and stuck more bread in. Both Arthur and Mary-Anne stood on their chairs to reach it. Both snatched for the same piece.

"I had it first!" Arthur said.

"But I wanted that one!"

"But I've got it. Get a different piece."

"But I wanted it!"

Arthur sighed. "OK, you can have it, but that means I get two more pieces."

Sherlock selected another piece and gave it to Kitty.

"Chank-oo, Shock."

"Don't fight," Aidan said. "There's porridge too." He spun three bowls with toppings according to his assorted children's tastes and they stopped sliding in front of each intended child. Sherlock smiled. Yes, Scarlet definitely had a keeper here.

Scarlet appeared now, puffing slightly, holding her back with one hand and supporting her bump with the other.

Sherlock smiled at her and quickly calculated the most annoying thing to say to her.

"Are you absolutely sure it's not twins?" he asked her.

She stared daggers at him.

"What happened to 'I've calculated based on the lengths of your previous pregnancies, and the usual gestation period for forth children, and it will definitely be born today'?"

"It was my sweepstake day. You've messed it all up now."

"Yes, of course, it's _my _fault that the little bugger won't shift."

"It is. You've clearly made it far too comfortable."

There was a glimmer of a smile.

"It'll happen when it happens, Scarlet." John told her.

"Thanks, Dad. Helpful."

Aidan risked getting close to her to hand her a cup of tea. "What do you want for breakfast? Porridge? Toast? I'll can make you eggs, spinach if you want it, gherkins..."

She smiled at him. "I'd like Eggs Benedict."

"I will cook you Eggs Benedict," he told her with a kiss. "I will make the hollandaise sauce from scratch, because I love you. I will swirl the poached eggs into perfect circles because you are the best person I know. You are my wife, whom I love, and I'm not in any way frightened of how crazy you are at the moment."

She kissed him back and eased herself into a chair.

"So, who's day is it today?"

John checked a list on the wall. "Mycroft!"

"Scarlet, under no circumstances will you have that baby today," Sherlock told her.

"Really?"

"No."

"Mummy, when the new baby comes, will it be a boy or a girl?" Mary-Anne asked.

"I've told you, we don't know. We didn't find out."

"I think it will be a girl."

"Good for you."

"No," Arthur told her, "It has to be a boy. There are all ready two girls but one boy, so we need another boy."

"I'm not sure it works that way, Spud." Sherlock told him. "But don't you worry, there are four men in the house, so we'll stick together."

"I want to be a boy too!" Mary-Anne told him.

"You can't be because you haven't got a willy," Arthur told her.

"Muuuuum!"

"I can't give you a willy, Mary-Anne. You've got a vagina instead and that's just as good."

"I still want to be a boy like Grandpa Sherlock."

"No, sweetheart," John told her. "No-one wants to be like Sherlock really. Right, we were thinking we'll take everyone to the park, give you a bit of time on your own."

"You're a saint, John," Aidan told him.

"It was my idea!" Sherlock said.

"You're lovely too, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled. His phone beeped and he picked it up. "Mycroft wants to know if you've had the baby yet. What should I tell him?"

Scarlet drank some of her tea and thought about it. "Tell him if he asks again I will insist that he delivers the thing himself." Aidan put a plate full of food in front of her and she sighed with happiness and started eating.

Sherlock smiled and started texting. "Actually, Aidan, that looks really good. Can you do one for me."

"No. Now please remove my children and entertain them for the day."

Sherlock finished his coffee and looked at the three pairs of eyes, staring at him. "Right, Spud, Pea-pod, Puss-cat, if you can dress without killing each other, there might be, _might_ be boating."

Arthur and Mary-Anne abandoned breakfast immediately to leap down and chase each other back upstairs to the bedroom. Kitty stayed where she was, happy and confident that she would be taken to the park regardless, and that there would be boating and that she would be held so she could dip her hands in the water. She licked the butter from her toast.

oOo

An hour later and they left the house.

"It's an interesting phenomenon," Sherlock said, "That regardless of how organised or fast you think you're being, it will always take a full hour to get three children ready to leave the house."

"I wonder if the time will go up when there are four."

"I'm sure we'll get to experiment some day soon."

"Grandpa Sherlock, are we getting a cab?" Arthur asked him. "If so, can I hail it?"

"You can," Sherlock told him. He stood behind him slightly to keep a look out and perhaps wave an arm himself should the need arise.

"Can I wave it too!" Mary-Anne asked. She instantly shot towards the road slightly for a better look and was instantly grabbed by John.

"Pavement, Mary-Anne."

"But I can't see!"

"You stay on the pavement anyway. Come on now, we're not having any silliness today."

Mary-Anne stuck her bottom lip out and John and Sherlock hid their smile. Arthur saw a cab and waved. It took only a slight nod from Sherlock and the cabbie pulled in. Arthur opened the door for everyone to get in. He sat down proudly next to Sherlock. John watched him with a smile.

Mary-Anne got over her sulk and turned to John.

"Why does people's hair grow?"

"Erm..."

Sherlock grinned.

They got out at Hyde Park. Within seconds Mary-Anne was out of sight and Arthur had found a long stick to wave in the air.

"I am a knight of the round table!" he shouted.

"Sir Arthur, do you think you can help find your sister."

"She'll have gone to the pirate ship." He set off.

John turned to check on Sherlock's progress. He was stood over Kitty who was counting daisies in a grass border using a random sequence of numbers.

"Puss, can you come on now please? We're going to the pirate ship!" Sherlock coaxed her.

"In a minute. Got to count da flowers."

Sherlock looked over at John. "We'll be right behind you."

John turned to follow the other two.

"Lood, Shock, dis one has an ouchy!" She handed him a tiny crumpled flower. "Will you fix it?"

The sun shone on her, catching the red hints in her hair and Sherlock was completely in love.

They caught up with the others some time later, Sherlock carrying a small infirmary of daisies. Kitty toddled off towards the small climbing frame.

"Where are the other two?" Sherlock asked John.

"One of them is playing nicely on big swing, and one's trying to rule a small group of children on the pirate ship. I'll give you two and a half guesses which is which."

Sherlock smiled. "How do the two of them have the energy to deal with three of them all the time? We've had them two hours and I really want to go home for a nap."

"I'd like to think that we help out sometimes."

"I don't remember being this tired with Scarlet though. And there wasn't even the luxury of giving her back."

"She was older than Kitty is now when you first got on the scene."

"No, not really. I mean I was there. I just wasn't fucking you regularly. I'd like to think my relationship with her is strong independently of my relationship with you."

"That's true. I still did the vast majority of the night wake ups though. And the nappies."

"Speaking of which, Kitty's smelling a bit ripe."

"It's definitely your turn, Sherlock!"

"I know but would you anyway? Please?"

John sighed. The sound of a piping voice reached their consciousness.

"Grandpas! Grandpas, look at me!"

They spun round to locate the voice. There was Mary-Anne, stood on the safety railing around the top of the Pirate Ship. The both ran.

"Scarlet! Get down! Get down right now!" John yelled.

"Mary-Anne! You do not climb up there! Get down this instant!"

Her face drooped and the lower lip came out again. She climbed carefully down though. They watched, shaken, as she stomped back down the ladder, walked right past them and went to sit down on the floor with her arms crossed. After a brief struggle, she started wailing.

The sound of someone else's cries cut through and they turned to see Kitty charging towards them looking worried.

"Where was you?" she wailed.

"I'll do this one, you do that one," Sherlock said.

"That's hardly fair."

"I'll do the nappy too."

"Fine."

John set off towards Mary-Anne to start lengthy explanations about safety and gravity and to start the negotiations about what was acceptable behaviour. Sherlock went to gather the distraught Kitty to explain that they hadn't gone anywhere and they'd never leave her behind ever.

After a short while, Arthur joined them, glowering.

"A man took my stick away," he said, kicking at his shoe.

"Right," Sherlock said, nodding slowly. "OK, I think that it's time for ice-cream now."

Three faces lit up. They wandered slowly along the footpaths eating ice-cream. Kitty's buggy was being used to ferry all the coats and jumpers that the day had turned out far too hot for. Butterflies were spotted and identified by John. Sherlock identified the flowers and explained that the ones in the borders couldn't be picked, not even one tiny petal. Bees buzzed. There was a very interesting caterpillar that caused a ten minute break. It was close to lunch-time before they got to the Serpentine.

I'll row," John said, "Arthur can help, and you can prevent Mary-Anne from throwing herself in to the water."

"I only did that once," she stropped.

"I can row!" Sherlock said.

"No, you can't and even if you could I wouldn't let you."

"This is about the heart attack again isn't it! It was only a very small one, and it was years ago now! And I've obeyed all orders and I'm much healthier now!"

"Even so. The idea of being stuck in the middle of a boating lake with you going purple and three small children doesn't fill me with happy thoughts."

"Fine."

They rowed out. Arthur sat between John's legs holding onto the oars as John pulled. Sherlock sat on the other bench with a granddaughter each side of him. Both of them were being held back as they leaned out to put fingers in the water.

John's phone rang.

"I can't let go of the oars," he told Sherlock.

"I can't let go of the girls."

"It's Aidan's ring. He's probably just checking up. He'll have to wait fifteen minutes."

Sherlock nodded.

"Look, Shock! Um, big ducks!"

"They're swans," said Mary-Anne, the educator.

Aidan called again. John and Sherlock exchanged a look and John started steering the boat back towards the shore.

"Do we have to stop?" Arthur complained.

"We do, sweetheart," John told him. "I think Daddy might have some news of us."

"About the baby? Has it been borned?" Mary-Anne asked.

"Probably not born yet no, but I suspect it's getting ready to be born now."

"It's been doing that for _months,_" she complained.

They missed another call before they got back, and John had dialled back while Sherlock unloaded the boat.

"Aidan, is there news?"

"Yes. Well, it's been born." He sounded quite shell-shocked.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Yes, it just sort of... arrived."

"Why didn't you call when things started?"

"There wasn't time! Really, the midwife didn't even get here on time. I called 999, but it was over before the paramedics had managed to climb all the stairs!"

"Bloody hell! Is Scarlet OK?"

"Yes. I think so. But are you coming home soon? It's just... everyone's gone. I didn't think everyone would go so soon."

"We're on our way."

He hung up. Sherlock was looking at him. "You're about to tell me the baby's been born, aren't you."

"Yeah. God."

"Did it go OK?"

"It certainly went fast! We should go. Aidan sounded a bit tense."

"I'm hungry!" Mary-Anne said.

"I am too!" Arthur agreed.

"Well, food when we get home." There were a few pouts and sulks but both children were aware of Grandpa John's 'no means no' face. They were also aware of the look Sherlock got when there was no way he'd do anything but back John up. They settled down and walked happily back to the road. They bundled back into a cab and they set off back home.

"Is the new baby a boy?" Arthur asked.

"You know, I entirely forgot to ask!" John told him.

"Aidan didn't say?"

"No!"

"Not a single personal pronoun used?"

"Not that I recall."

Sherlock gave him a look. "You're rubbish," he said.

As he anticipated, John leapt out of the cab, leaving him to bundle three children, a pushchair, a changing bag and several stray jumpers out of it. He smarted a little at the injustice of that, but he knew that John simply couldn't help himself. He wouldn't feel normal until he'd checked all of Scarlet's vital signs. Sherlock gave the money to Arthur to pay and followed John into the house. He may have been a little impatient with certain children being slow at removing their shoes.

They met Aidan on the first floor. Sherlock was pleased to see that behind the shock, the healthy glow of joy was starting to show through.

"Daddy! Daddy is it a boy! Is it?"

"Is it a girl!" Mary-Anne said

"She's a girl!" Aidan told them.

Both of the older children started leaping about with joy. Kitty was distracted by a moth on the wall.

"Can we see her!"

"Mum says when you've all washed your hands, yes."

They streamed towards the bathroom, even Kitty beginning to catch some of the excitement. Aidan clapped Sherlock on the back. "You should go up and see her," he told him, then he set off to supervise the hand washing.

Sherlock went up into the long familiar room. It was a somewhat softer setting now than when it had been his own room. John was sat on the bed. There was a soft yellow blanket covering Scarlet's torso from which a small amount of black hair was just showing. Scarlet was holding her gently in place with one hand and was using the other to wipe away tears.

"Scarlet?" he said.

"I'm fine! It's just hormones and shock and I guess what I need to do to reset my brain to it's not-pregnant state." More tears fell. "It feels weird. I'm not having another one so this the was the last time I'd ever give birth, and it was over in an instant. I feel like I missed it all!"

"Oh, Scarlet," John said. He kissed her forehead and gently hugged the side of her that wasn't feeding a baby.

Sherlock came for a closer look. "I've been thinking that you should call her Surprise."

Scarlet giggled. "No I don't think so."

"What will she be called?"

"I have no idea." She cried a bit more and Sherlock sat down next to John. "She's finished feeding. Hang on a second."

They averted their eyes so that Scarlet could adjust her clothing. When they looked face there was a small, angry looking face looking back at them. The hair on her head was still sticky and it looked slightly like a headdress of black feathers.

"She looks like a crow," Sherlock said.

"Oh God, no."

"Let me have her."

Scarlet handed her across to him and John started taking Scarlet's pulse and temperature in a way that was almost traditional now. When he was satisfied about her general health, he pulled her forward gently and just held her up for a while.

"You know, I think this is your best one yet!" Sherlock told her.

"Yeah, you always say that. You love whichever one's in front of you the most. Fickle isn't the word."

"No, I think this one's going to be really clever."

"Oh God, I'm not sure I can cope with another clever one."

Sherlock looked up at her. "You all right?" he asked gently.

She wept again, but nodded. "Thank God we'd intended to have a home birth."

They were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the herd. They crowded around Sherlock to peer.

"Can I hold her?" Arthur asked.

"In a while."

"She's very wrinkly!" Mary-Anne said.

"So were you at the same age," John told her.

Kitty leaned forward to stroke her head a bit. "'lo New Baby!"

"We need a name," Aidan said. "Or she'll be New Baby forever."

"Genevieve," Scarlet said quietly.

"Fair enough," Aidan replied.

"Can we take New Baby to nursery tomorrow?"

"We were too late," Scarlet said, smiling at Aidan who smiled back.

"Oh, while I remember," Sherlock told them, "As far as Mycroft is concerned, the Crow was born tomorrow."

John smiled and too her from him for a closer look. He checked her first as a grandfather, and then as a doctor. "You know, Scarlet, you've managed another perfect one."

"Mm. Well, I'm glad she's here now. Pass her over, I need to take photos and text them out."

She was passed back.

"Apart from not to Mycroft," Sherlock reminded her. "Not until tomorrow."

John smacked him lightly. "We'll tell him today or he'll put all the spy-cams back. Right, who's hungry?"

He stood up and was instantly surrounded with a flock of children offering their thoughts on food and what should be cooked right now. Sherlock got up too, and Aidan got onto the bed to lie next to Scarlet and Genevieve. He smiled before he shut the door on the scene.

* * *

**Just a quick note, I know I say I'll always correct names straight away, so I just wanted to point out that that particular use of Scarlet was deliberate.**

**Pip xxx**


	40. Court 1

**Woo-hoo! My first ever court-room drama! And simultaneously, woo-hoo! My last ever court-room drama!**

**Right, once again, an 'I know nothing' disclaimer. I've been lucky enough not to have attended court before, my knowledge of the system is limited. Most of the Court Drama TV I've watched came from the USA so I can't even rely on that. 'Representatives from Christ' is an organisation I've made up, though I am aware similar organisations exist, I've spent no time researching them.**

**So basically, try not to see this as anything other than an (hopefully) entertaining story. Thank you.**

**Pip xxx**

**

* * *

**The somewhat subdued family made their way into the house following Mrs Hudson's funeral. Mycroft and Lestrade had joined them, but the whole party were exhausted and hoped to do nothing more than stare into space for a while. John picked up the mail from the mat on his way past. He found another three for Mrs Hudson, representing three more companies he'd have to call. He sighed. There were two addressed to him, a bill and a letter from the Court.

He headed straight through to the kitchen to put the kettle on but Greg was already there so he went to sit down instead. He dropped all but the court letter on the floor. That one he opened and scanned through it.

"Shit."

Sherlock looked over to him. "Trouble?"

"No, no nothing. It's fine."

"John, the thing that's causing me the most stress at the moment is the feeling that you're keeping things from me."

"Sorry. It's just the date the court want to see us on the whole Mrs Cameron thing is the fifteenth of February."

"Shit."

Scarlet looked up. "That's... that's"

"It's your birthday, I know sweetheart."

"No," She said. "It's two weeks away. There's no time to... prepare."

"Stop guessing when she talks, John!" Sherlock snapped.

"I'm not! It's just..." He took a breath. "No, you're right. I'm sorry Scarlet. And you're right. It's not much time to prepare."

"I wonder if I could help with this," Mycroft said.

"No, we don't want it just to be resolved and disappear," John told him. "Well, actually I don't know. It's just," he glanced at Sherlock. "It's one thing after another at the moment. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes I'm sure. I'm tired, but I'm sure. I'm mostly sure."

"I want to do this," Scarlet said quietly.

They looked at her for a moment, then John nodded. "OK."

"John, if I may, you misunderstood me," Mycroft said, "I'm not suggesting I make anything disappear, but the legal system, the government, diplomacy, these are all my areas of expertise. I can work with you and organise the information you need, and give you some structure. John, you don't need to do this alone. I know that Mrs Cameron has taken advice and help from Representatives From Christ. While I despise the organisation, they have money and they've hired legal council for her. There's no reason for you to attend the court less prepared than she is."

John glanced across at Sherlock who gave a very slight nod.

"Thank you, Mycroft," John said. "Actually, your help would be, well, helpful. Thank you."

Mycroft smiled. "Good. And as to those letters, I can make them disappear. You don't need to call every organisation that Mrs Hudson ever contacted. Well, unless you want to."

"I don't mind doing it."

"No. I think we all understand that, John. The point is, you have limited time, a lot going on, and there are people available to help. This is something I can do with almost no effort at all."

"Right. Yes. I suppose that makes sense."

Greg came in, laden with cups. "Tea, John."

"Thank you."

"Oh, and, we were wondering if you want homework help," Greg said.

"Homework help?"

"Yeah, Scarlet's missed some school, and I know you don't like her getting behind."

"No, well usually..." he glanced over at Sherlock.

"John, it's sensible. I've not been up to helping, you can't do it all."

"Obviously, assuming Scarlet doesn't have any objections," Mycroft said.

Scarlet looked up. "I don't mind. It's a good, er, idea."

"Well then, I guess yes. Thank you."

"Why doesn't Scarlet say with us this weekend? We can take a look at the school-work and talk a bit about the case then."

Scarlet nodded.

"Overnight?" John asked.

"Yes, overnight. We're quiet capable of taking care of her overnight."

John was aware that everyone was watching him. He smiled. "Sound's great."

oOo

The fifteenth of February arrived. Scarlet, wearing a smart new blouse and jacket, followed John and Sherlock into the Court building. Being Westminster, it was slightly more ornate and impressive than other county court buildings and she felt mildly cowed. Mycroft was waiting for them, smiling happily as if he was just indulging in a hobby day. As Scarlet reached him, she noticed Mrs Cameron sat on some waiting chairs just feet away. She froze.

John and Sherlock walked on and exchanged pleasantries with Mycroft. He shook their hands and glanced over at Scarlet.

John, Sherlock, could you wait here a moment? I'd like to show Scarlet around the building for a while."

"Do you have time?"

"Oh yes, I would say we have half an hour before the start. The Judge will be reviewing the case notes for the moment, there's nothing to worry about."

John and Sherlock sat. Their hands met and linked with each other as they looked around the building. Mrs Cameron and her solicitor looked away from them.

Mycroft lead Scarlet up the main staircase, and pointed out to her statues of Judges and Magistrates and the masonry work of the building and the vaulted ceilings and she absorbed it all with large, worried eyes. At the top of stairs, he gestured to some large, oak-panelled double doors.

"This is the public viewing gallery of the main courtroom here. Would you like to have a look?"

"Is it... am I allowed?"

"Yes, the court is empty at the moment. There's a detailed case going on at that went long into the night, so they're not due to reconvene until after lunch." He opened the door and let her walk inside.

She walked down the steps and looked over the railing. It was an impressive sight. There were busts of various people looking down on the room with stern expressions on their faces. The dais where the judge sat was huge, with more wood panelling. Mycroft pointed out the jury box and the witness box.

"Will there be a... a jury at mine?"

"No, ours is a different sort of hearing. Sit down with me a moment Scarlet."

She obeyed him.

"Scarlet, there's something I've neglected to explain to you."

She glanced up at him with a frown.

"This is a big impressive building and I did want you to see it, because I believe that the British Justice System is something that should be respected and for the most part admired. The room in which our hearing will take place will be little more than a room with tables and chairs in it, but even if it had happened in here, it would still just be a room, with people stating their cases, and a Judge listening to them. The room, the fripperies, they are not important. Judge Silvia Hammond will be hearing our case, and what she needs to hear is the truth of what has happened so that she can make a clear judgement. She may ask you to elaborate and explain things, and you should do that with as much honesty as you can muster. Without that honesty, none of the rest of it matters."

"I won't lie."

"No, I know that. But Scarlet, there may be times where you wonder what Judge Hammond is driving at. You may want to read her thoughts and say what you think she wants to hear, or to say the thing that shows you and John and Sherlock in the best light. You'll be talking in front of your parents, and there may be times you want to say what they want to hear, to protect them, or to make them proud. It's important that you don't do that. It's important that you give all the information you have, as honestly as you can, to Judge Hammond."

Scarlet nodded slowly. She looked young and frightened.

"Scarlet there's something else," Mycroft went on. "More than anything else, I need you to know that none of this is your fault. You're not on trial, you're just a girl to whom something happened, who now needs to explain that so that a judgement may be passed."

"OK."

Do you have any questions?"

"Will Mrs... Mrs Cameron lose her job?"

"I don't know. If the judge thinks it's appropriate, she may remove her license to teach, but if that happens, it's because Judge Hammond has to ensure that Britain's young people have the most appropriate teaching staff guiding them. It will not be because of you, or anything that you've done. If Judge Hammond believes that Mrs Cameron is not a suitable carer for young people, then that's judgement is about Mrs Cameron, and not about you."

"But what if... what if she's really helping children? What if this is wrong?"

"Scarlet, don't worry, don't panic. This perhaps wasn't the best room to bring you to to help you be calm. Scarlet, the reason we're here is because we don't know what the right thing is. That's why we're going to talk to the Judge. She will make the decision."

"What if she's wrong? What if we lose?" She frowned. "What if we win?"

"Scarlet, it's probably best not to think about winning and losing. We're asking the Judge for guidance. That's all."

"Is she nice? Judge Hammond?"

"Nice? I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that, but I can tell you she's a very able judge. She's widely respected within the profession."

Scarlet nodded again. She sat back in her chair. "Mycroft? What if I can't... what if I forget all the words?"

"Then we'll wait until you remember them again. Just stay calm, stay focused, and say if you're struggling."

"OK."

"Right, do you remember everything else? That I told you?"

"Er, look at the Judge... look, even if someone else asked the, er question. Call her Your Honour. Er... Don't shout out or talk at all unless asked to."

"Stand up when she enters the courtroom, and whenever instructed to during the course of the hearing. I'll be right next to you, so I'll remind you."

She nodded again.

"Right then, we'd better get back downstairs."

She followed him back to the waiting area. She found it less intimidating to see Mrs Cameron now, and she stood and leaned against the wall and waited.

They were called quite quickly, and followed an usher down a corridor to a small courtroom. It was less intimidating than the main room that Scarlet had seen, but she was able to spot and identify the judges desk, the witness box, the jury box and there was enough wood panelling for her to feel that she'd get a proper judgement here.

The public area here was very small and it was empty, and Scarlet followed everyone to the front of the room. She sat down between Mycroft and John. An extra chair was produced for Sherlock at the end of their table.

The usher sat down at his own desk, next to the Judges one. Scarlet realised that he had a slightly different job than an usher at a cinema, and she made a note to ask Mycroft about it later.

A door opened and everyone stood up. Scarlet eyed Judge Hammond. She decided she looked nice. She wasn't wearing a wig, and was happy to let her grey hair show through the brown and she wore minimum make up. She was wearing a purple blouse under her gown, and Scarlet could see a pretty pendant shaped like a cluster of flowers.

"Right, good morning everybody. Please sit down," she said. They all did. "Right, you must be Scarlet Watson."

Scarlet stood up again and nodded.

"How are you today, Scarlet?"

"I'm...I'm... I'm...I'm fine." She breathed out then looked panicked. "Your Honour."

Judge Hammond smiled.

"Scarlet, I wanted to have a brief talk with you before everyone gets sworn in and we start formally. Is that OK?"

Scarlet nodded and whispered, "Yes Your Honour."

"Scarlet, has anyone been helping you get ready for today?"

"Yes. Uncle Mycroft, Your Honour."

"Good, I'm pleased this has all been explained to you. Now, I've been reading your notes and I understand you have aphasia."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"And you've been offered the opportunity to give your testimony to me privately, but you chose not to."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Right, so what I would like you to know that if you're talking with me and you need to stop for a while, you can just tell me. If you need a drink, or a break, you can just say. I want to hear what you have to say, so I'm prepared to wait as long as it takes to do that. I haven't got anything else on today, do you have anything else to do, Paul?"

"No ,Your Honour," the usher said, with a smile.

"No-one else in this room is important, so we'll wait for you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes Your Honour."

"Good, I'm glad. You can sit down. As you all know, and as I'm sure has been explained to Miss Watson, this is a hearing and not a trial. There will be no calling of witnesses or cross examination at this time, if any one of you would like to ask a question of anyone else, you raise your hand and ask me and I either will or will not put the question to whomever I'm talking to. You will now be sworn in and anything you say will be under oath. Paul, would you do the honours? Each of you stand to take the oath."

Paul walked across the courtroom and handed a bible across and a laminated card. He worked his way along the row, swearing in each person in turn.

"Good. Everyone stand while I outline the case. The case that has been brought to me is number 59217-10. Misters Holmes and Watson are bringing a case of child endangerment against Mrs Cameron, while she was headteacher at Hunting Harlow senior school, and discrimination based on Sexual Orientation. Mrs Cameron has brought a counter claim of defamation of character, and restriction of religious freedom. Do I understand the case?"

"Yes, Your Honour," Mycroft answered.

"Yes, Your Honour," the Christian Solicitor answered.

"Right, good. You're representing the Watson-Holmes family, I take it?"

Mycroft stood. "Yes, Your honour."

"Your name?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Mister Holmes, will you outline your case."

"Yes your honour. Scarlet started Hunting Harlow Senior School on Thursday, the second of September. On Wednesday the eighth of September, she was verbally intimidated by some older boys in the school. Scarlet felt threatened by the situation and to avoid a recurrence, she chose not to attend school. On Thursday the thirtieth of September, Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson were visited by Mrs Carol Jenson of Westminster Child Services. Our case lies in the fact that between the Eight of September and the Thirtieth of September, nobody contacted Scarlet's parents to inform them that their daughter hadn't been attending school. Social Services weren't informed until the twenty-eighth of September, after Scarlet had been absent from school for eighteen school-days. When Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson attended a meeting with Mrs Cameron, she indicated to them that Scarlet was considered as having a higher level of risk because of their same sex relationship."

"Thank you Mister Holmes." She looked across at the other side of the courtroom. "Sir, I understand you are representing Mrs Cameron."

The solicitor stood. "Yes Your Honour, I am Steven Chandler."

"Defamation of character?"

"Yes, Your Honour. The defamation of character relates to the child endangerment case originating from the Watson-Holmes family. At no time did Mrs Cameron put Scarlet's safety in jeopardy. In addition, Mister Watson made claims that Mrs Cameron's Christian beliefs contradict her ability to ensure the welfare of children, and we would like the opportunity to show the error of that claim."

"Right, so where did these claims take place."

"At a meeting at the school, Your Honour."

"In a classroom?"

"In Mrs Cameron's office, Your Honour."

"And who was in attendance?"

"Mrs Cameron, Mister Sherlock Holmes, and Mister Watson."

"So, no television crew, no journalist?."

"Your Honour, the education field is small and contained, particularly within individual Education Authorities. Discussion of what happens within the school spreads outside of the school among parents, and other teachers. The fact that the claims were not published anywhere in the popular media, doesn't mean that the claims weren't public. When Mister Watson brought filed his case with the court, he made it public."

"Thank you. Please sit down. Now, I would like to hear a bit of background from all of you. Doctor Watson, let's start with you."

John stood.

"Doctor Watson, Scarlet is your biological daughter from your first marriage?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"When you were planning children with your wife, did you ever discuss the idea of home-schooling?"

"No, Your Honour, though Sherlock and I discussed it at various times."

"And during your discussions with Mister Holmes, did you ever decide you would home educate?"

"No, Your Honour."

"So basically, you made a choice to send Scarlet to school?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"And when you made your choice of school, did you understand that you were making a commitment to them, to encourage Scarlet to follow the rules and regulations of the school?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How did that go?"

John startled. "I think," he glanced down at Scarlet. "I think it went very well. Scarlet's behaviour has always been good. I think her school reports from when she was at Saint Matthews reflect that."

"Yes, I've read them. The school seem very impressed with her. I think you should be proud of her, Doctor Watson. Yes, Miss Watson."

Scarlet had raised her hand. She stood up. "I did get... er, get... detention. After school one day. Once. I hit Mrs Churcher."

"Who was Mrs Churcher?"

"My teacher."

"What year?"

"Year... three."

So that would have made you seven or eight."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did you know that it was wrong to hit your teacher?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did you think your Fathers would be impressed with your behaviour?"

"No, You're Honour."

"I don't even remember that," John said, frowning at her.

"No, well you weren't there." Sherlock explained.

"Doctor Watson, Mister Holmes, when you speak, you will please address the court," Judge Hammond said sternly.

Sherlock raised his hand.

"Yes, Mister Holmes?"

"I'm sorry, Your Honour. John wasn't aware of the incident to which Scarlet's refers. At the time he was in hospital. I was picking up Scarlet from school that week, so I was aware she had to stay behind, and why, but John wasn't."

"Did you think it appropriate that she hit her teacher?"

"No, Your Honour, but under the particular circumstances, I recognised there were factors that were causing Scarlet to behave in a way that wasn't usual. She was upset, she was out of routine, she was worried about John."

"So you'd say it was excusable."

"I'd say it was understandable, Your Honour."

"Thank you, please sit down. Thank you for telling me about that, Miss Watson. It hasn't made it onto your school records, so I suspect some of your teacher thought it was understandable too. It's not ideal behaviour, but I think you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Good, sit down."

Scarlet did so.

"Doctor Watson, when you asked for Scarlet to be enrolled at her various schools, did you understand that it was your responsibility to ensure that she attended every day?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

Scarlet's hand had shot up.

"Yes, Miss Watson."

She stood again. "He didn't know. He... though I was... I was going. To School. Your Honour."

"Be that as it may, Miss Watson, it doesn't absolve his responsibility to ensure that you got to school safely. Until you're on your school grounds, you're his responsibility. When you're on school ground, that responsibility is shared with your teachers. Please sit down, Miss Watson. You too, Doctor Watson. Mister Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stood.

"You adopted Scarlet five years ago?"

"Four years, seven months and five days, Your Honour."

"And you married Doctor Watson _approximately_ three years before that?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Why didn't the adoption take place on the same day as the Civil Union?"

"Because we wanted Scarlet to be able to make an informed choice about the adoption, Your Honour."

"Most children don't get to pick and choose their parents."

"No, You're honour, and I don't think that Scarlet got to pick and choose hers either. Her options were either me, or not me, no-one else was an option for her."

"Do you often take her opinion into account when making this sort of decision? I mean important, lasting decisions, not just what to watch on television, or what to eat for dinner."

"Some of them, Your Honour. If we think that she has a vested interest, and that she understands the implication of the choice."

"When you adopted her, did you fully understand the commitment you were making? Did you understand that as a parent, you had the responsibility to make decisions on her behalf?"

"I did, Your Honour."

"Did you understand that it would be your responsibility to ensure she went to school?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Can you tell me what happened when you received a call from Social Services?"

"No, Your honour, they didn't call us in advance, they arrived at the house on the thirtieth of September. I answered the door, and the social worker, Mrs Carol Jenson, explained that she was visiting because Scarlet hadn't been attending school. She talked with us for a while, and left us to raise the issue with Scarlet when she returned home."

"Were you surprised that she hadn't been at school?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"You had no reason to believe that she had been going anywhere other than school?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Yes, Mister Chandler?"

He rose to speak. "Your Honour, in our research, we have found that Mister Holmes has... certain special skills relating to observation. His employment relies on him spotting small signs and indications and reading situations based on that. His input has been key in several cases, details of which have been provided to the court."

"I've read the reports, Mister Chandler. What's your point?"

"My point, Your Honour, is that it seems slightly unbelievable that a man of his skills would fail to spot any evidence on an eleven year old child whom he sees daily, that she hadn't been attending school."

"You think he knew?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"So in your opinion, the school didn't need to contact Mister Holmes, because you assumed he knew."

"Your Honour, the school in question has over six thousand students, Mister Holmes has one child and heightened observation skills. Mister Holmes knew that Miss Watson wasn't attending school, and as her guardian, he had a responsibility to contact the school to express his concerns."

"Mister Chandler, does Hunting Harlow school take daily attendance registers?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Once a day?"

"Twice a day, Your Honour, in the morning and in the afternoon."

"So Miss Watson had missed two registration periods before Mister Holmes would have any chance of observing the child."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did any staff at Hunting Harlow school call Mister Holmes or Doctor Watson when Scarlet missed registration?"

"We don't do that!" Mrs Cameron cut in.

"I'm not addressing you, Mrs Cameron. Mr Chandler, to your knowledge, did anyone at Hunting Harlow school contact either of Miss Watson's parents when she missed two registrations?"

"No, your honour, Hunting Harlow school has a policy that parents are not called on the first day of absence."

"Sit down, Mister Chandler."

He did so.

"Mister Holmes, I apologise, but I'm going to repeat my question. Did you have any clue at all that Miss Watson wasn't attending school?"

Sherlock hesitated. "Your Honour, I didn't recognise or register any signs that Scarlet wasn't attending school between the eighth and the thirtieth of September, but following the visit from Mrs Jenson, I was able to make sense of some things that I'd seen."

"In retrospect?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn't it."

Sherlock remained silent.

"My problem, Mister Holmes, is that I have read case files. I've seen what you can do. Like Mister Chandler, I wonder if you did see signs that Scarlet hadn't been attending school, but you had chosen to ignore them. Is it possible that you ignored signs that you had seen?"

Sherlock hesitated again. "Yes, Your Honour, it is possible."

"Why might you have done that?"

"Because at the time, the most likely scenario was that Scarlet was attending school."

"Even though there may have been signs that she hadn't been?"

"Yes, Your Honour." Sherlock looked at the table for a moment, before looking again at the judge. "Your Honour, they're my family. John and Scarlet, I try not to spend time analysing them or their behaviour."

"Why not? They're your family, they're surely important to you."

"Yes, Your Honour, they're very important to me. But they're my family, they don't like me using my work skills on them."

"So you can turn it off? You can choose not to see things?"

"No, Your Honour. It's perhaps more accurate to say, I can turn it on. I don't spend all day concentrating on collecting evidence, but when I need to, I engage my skills fully."

"Can you identify any signs now, that you saw during that time that might have caused you to engage your skills to work out that something was not right with Scarlet?"

"Only one, Your Honour. On one occasion, when Scarlet was working at the kitchen table, I noticed that one of her books was from the public library, rather than a school book."

"Did you ask her about that?"

"No, your honour."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure, Your Honour. I don't remember consciously making that decision, but I didn't ask her."

"So you may have subconsciously chosen to ignore something."

"Yes, Your Honour, but even with the library book, the most likely scenario was that Scarlet was attending school. She told us what she had been doing in lessons, and her teachers names. She showed us assignments she had been given. She'd always wanted to go to school before and there was no reason to believe that she had taken the book from the library during school hours."

"Mister Holmes, I don't think I've met a child yet who wants to go to school every day."

"No, Your Honour. There were occasions when she asked to stay at home but she didn't complain when we said no, and the vast majority of the time, she didn't ask. Until her accident, Scarlet wanted to go to school. She enjoyed being with her friends, she liked her teachers. Following the accident, she found it more difficult and struggled within the classroom. At that point she preferred to stay at home."

"After the accident, did you ever let her stay at home on a day she may have been well enough to attend school?"

Sherlock thought about this. "Your Honour, there have been occasions when Scarlet was physically well enough to attend school, but her stress and anxiety levels were high. There were occasions when John and I discussed the matter, and decided it would be detrimental to her mentally if we force her to attend."

"So Miss Watson has a history of being allowed to stay at home on occasions that school might be stressful for her."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Thank you. Please sit down."

Sherlock did so. Scarlet looked across at him, worried, but he didn't look away from the floor.

"Mrs Cameron, please stand. Can you please give me details of the first time you contacted Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson because their daughter hadn't been attending school."

"It isn't school policy to contact parents on the first day of absence."

"That's now what I asked. I'll come back to school policy later. When was the first time you discussed the matter of Miss Watson's truancy with her parents?"

"We sent notes through to Social Services on..."

"Mrs Cameron, that's not what I asked either. Can you let me know the first time you discussed the matter directly with Miss Watson's parents?"

"It would have been at a meeting at the school on the... the first of October."

"Who asked for that meeting?"

"Mister Watson called the school to arrange it."

"How much time was scheduled for the meeting?"

"I don't remember."

"According to your schedule, it was fifteen minutes."

"That would be about right."

"So you didn't have long to discuss a matter of truancy with a student's parents."

"It's a big school. I can't see each parent individually on every issue. Fifteen minutes would be about standard."

"Can you tell me about school policy relating to truancy? You've mentioned that it isn't policy to contact the parents on the first day of absence. Why is that?"

"Mostly, parents have authorised the absence but have forgotten to call the school. Usually the child returns the next day with a note from their parent."

"So according to school policy, how many days absence would a child accrue before their parents were called?"

"It would depend on the child in question."

"So in your large school of many students, you know the circumstances of each individual child well enough to know whether they need a call home at what, three, four, five days."

"I don't know all of them, but there's a hierarchy of staff. The form teachers know their thirty children well enough to know."

"But each one of them could make a different decision."

"Well, the guidance we give is for about five days."

"About five days?"

"Yes, about five days."

"But there are children where it might be appropriate to call parents earlier than that?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How would you identify these children?"

"Well, there's usually a number of factors. If the children have regular incidents of bad behaviour for example, or if they're regularly absent from school, we'd start checking up sooner."

"Are they the only two factors?"

"Well, there might be other things."

"Such as?"

"Such as, often the children start school with SEN statements. These children need to attend regularly because they have specific educational needs."

"So, if a child has a history of bad behaviour, regular absenteeism, or a SEN statement, you might call their parents earlier than five days?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Would there be circumstances where you would call the child's home later than five days?"

"There might be, Your Honour."

"Might be? Can you give me a scenario where you would wait to contact a child's parents for a period longer than five days."

"Sometimes we go straight to Social Services."

"Would you usually contact them earlier or later than five days of absence?"

Mrs Cameron was silent for a moment.

"Mrs Cameron, would you please answer the question. If a child has been identified as needing input from Social Services, would you usually call Social Services before or after five days?"

"Before, Your Honour."

"Can you think of a scenario where you would wait longer than five days to speak to a child's parents."

"Not at the moment, Your Honour, but there might be."

"But you didn't call Miss Watson's parents, or Social Services at five days, or a earlier, or later. Why was that?"

"It was early in the school year, so there was a lot going on."

"So you just missed her because you were distracted by start of school events."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How do you identify the children who need input from Social Services?"

"Sometimes the child arrives with an open Social Services case. They're highlighted to me."

"Did Scarlet have a open Social Services case?"

"No, but I was still worried about her."

"Why?"

"She had severe health difficulties which hadn't been discussed with the school. I felt that the Parents had been remiss in this area."

"Did you call to discuss these concerns with her parents?"

"No, Your Honour."

"You were distracted by start of year things?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"But though she was deemed by you to have specific needs, and you had concerns relating to her health, you weren't able to give her parents more than fifteen minutes of your time when they requested a meeting."

Mrs Cameron didn't answer.

"Let's come back to Social Services. There were things relating to Miss Watson's health that concerned you. Was there anything else that made you feel it was appropriate to go to Social Services, rather than the parents?"

"I'd read her record, and her attendance record at Saint Matthews was poor."

"You suspected she'd played truant before?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"But at the same time, you were aware of, and concerned about her health."

Mrs Cameron hesitated. "Yes, Your Honour."

"Was there anything else that made you concerned for Scarlet Watson?"

"I felt her speech impediment and brain damage was sever and she could have qualified for a SEN statement, and Doctor Watson had neglected to arrange this for his child."

"Doctor Watson _and_ Mister Holmes as her parents."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"So, you felt that they'd been neglectful of Miss Watson's educational needs."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How long have you been a teacher for?"

"Thirty-two years, Your Honour, twelve of them as head-teacher."

"So you believe you are qualified to judge whether someone's educational needs are being neglected?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"In the case of Miss Watson, how much of your decision was based on her behaviour and ability, and how much was based on the fact that her parents are a same-sex couple?"

"The fact that they are a same sex couple was a factor, but it was less relevant to me than the fact that her education has been neglected."

"You're referring to Miss Watson?"

"Well, yes, Your honour."

"Miss Watson has a name. Please use it."

"I apologise, Your Honour. Scarlet's education was being neglected."

"Was it?"

"I believe so, yes."

"And you'd highlighted similar neglect to the heterosexual parents child, would you?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"But not to the homosexual parents of a child, then you'd go straight to Social Services."

Mrs Cameron hesitated. "Like I say, there were other factors involved."

"I'm sorry, not 'straight' to Social Services, you'd wait and do nothing for a period of eighteen school-days before going straight to Social Services."

Mr Chandler raised his hand. "Your Honour, my I interject?"

"No, you may not. I believe I'm beginning to understand without your help, thank you. Mrs Cameron, do you read the background reports of all your new students?"

"Not all of them, Your Honour. I read the ones of any child highlighted to me, so those on the at risk register, or those with SEN statements."

"Why did you read Miss Watson's?"

"I... she hadn't been attending school."

"So you hadn't decided whether to call on day one or day three or day five of her absence until after she'd been absent long enough to make you read her record?"

"It wasn't like that, Your Honour."

"What was it like?" She paused, but wasn't answered. "When did you first read Miss Watson's record?"

"I don't remember the exact date."

"Was it before or after the start of the school year?"

"It was before."

"So you'd in fact read it before there had been any incidents of bad behaviour or truancy."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Do you read all new student's records before they start school?"

"No, Your Honour. Some children don't need that level of attention. The form teachers read all of them and if they have concerns, they might highlight a student to me."

"Did Miss Watson's form teacher highlight Miss Watson's record to you?"

"I don't remember, Your Honour. He may have done."

"Mrs Cameron, did you read Miss Watson's educational record because you knew her parents are gay?"

"Yes, but..."

"No, I'm not ready to hear any 'buts' yet, Mrs Cameron. Please sit down."

She did so. Scarlet got tense in recognition on the fact that it was her turn.

"Miss Watson, no please don't stand up. I was going to say, I do want to hear you, but I'd like to continue talking with your parents for a while, so you can relax a moment. Doctor Watson."

John stood up.

"Doctor Watson, as Mrs Cameron rightly points out, Scarlet had quite a lot of absence during her last year at Saint Matthews. Can you outline if there were any measures put in place to stop Scarlet falling behind with her school work?"

"Er, yes, Your Honour. Well, some stuff we just couldn't cover because she was absent for the whole of the first half term and wasn't in a fit state to do any work at all, so she missed some project work and some other bits and pieces." John calmed himself and took a drink of water. "Sorry, Your Honour. I remember her teacher visiting us when we were still at GOSH with a copy of the book the class was reading so we read that with her. We didn't look for more work at that time. We concentrated on her physical needs and her therapy."

"For the second half term, did Scarlet go straight back to school?"

"No, well, yes we tried to, but it was too difficult for her, it was very stressful, and when she got very agitated, it wasn't good for her health. It also didn't help her learn, so then there seemed no point. Well, there's always a point to school but... sorry, er we talked to the school and set up a phased return. So she'd go in every morning and in the afternoon she'd either rest, or we'd start doing the homework and the stuff she didn't get to do in the afternoon."

"And you'd decide if she needed to rest?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"And did you feel it you were qualified to teach Scarlet in a teacher's place?"

"No, well, not really, but we had Mister Steiner's help. We'd go in, he'd explain what they were due to do that afternoon, or he'd explain about any project work."

"How often did you meet with Mister Steiner?"

"Oh, every day."

"For a one on one session?"

"Yes. Well, yes sometimes, but other times we'd go into the classroom to help out."

"Both of you would?"

"Yes. But not at the same time. And some other people too, some of our friends went in to give talks or demonstrations to Scarlet's class. It was unusual, usually the parents aren't able to help in the same classroom as their own child, but in this case it was recognised that Scarlet needed the help there so that she didn't get stressed."

"So, you could argue that Scarlet is used to the fact that she's gets special treatment when she gets stressed."

John opened his mouth for a few seconds. "Actually, yes, Your Honour, she has learned that, but I would argue that it's an essential skill to be able to assess your own stress and anxiety levels, and to organise your behaviour so that you can manage to get through what you need to do, without causing yourself further harm. I personally believe that that's what Scarlet's learned, and I think it's important."

"Do you think it's sensible to allow a child of eleven to make those decisions, and organise their own lifestyle for themselves?"

"No, Your Honour."

"No. I personally believe that it's a parents responsibility to help with that."

"Yes, Your Honour. And we did, we wouldn't let her stay home unless we were really sure she was ill or stressed, but we allowed her to express her concerns too."

"When Scarlet returned to school full time, she continued to have regular absences. Mister Holmes has indicated that some of this was due to stress. The rest of it would have been down to physical problems, is that right?"

"Yes, Your Honour, Scarlet has epilepsy and regularly gets migraines, and has had periods of vertigo. During these times she can't attend school."

"Would you say that these physical problems make up the majority of her absences?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"What was put into place to ensure that Scarlet kept up with her school-work at that point?"

"We generally called the school and asked Mister Steiner what she was missing, then we made up the time when she was able to."

"Thank you, Doctor Watson. Please sit down. Now, Scarlet."

Scarlet stood up.

"Are you hungry, Scarlet?"

"I'm... I'm a... a... a... little hungry."

"Good, well I'm starving, so I suggest you and I break for lunch, and afterwards, we'll talk. Is that OK?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Good. Well if the rest of you want lunch too, I suggest you go and take it now. We'll reconvene at two."

"All rise," Paul called, and they all stood up while Judge Hammond left the room.

* * *

**This will continue next chapter with Scarlet's testimony and the judgement. I'm torn between finding this interesting and worrying that it's dull, but I feel that the head-teacher storyline doesn't have closure without it, so you're getting another chapter whatever.**

**The next half is nearly written, but not quite there yet.**

**Pip xxx**


	41. Court 2

Lunch was a subdued affair for everyone except Mycroft. Sherlock refused to order or try to eat anything. John and Scarlet chose meals, but did little more than push them round their plates. Mycroft ordered several courses and ate happily.

"Really, you're all looking dreadfully grim," he said to them.

"It's all going... it's... I don't think Judge Hammond likes us much," Scarlet told him.

"Nonsense. She's gathering the information she needs all three of you are doing very well. There's really nothing to worry about."

"But... but..." Scarlet started.

"She thinks that she we should have made Scarlet attend," John cut in. "That's what Mrs Cameron told us before; it's our responsibility. That is what the law says too, isn't it?"

"John," Mycroft said, "all Judge Hammond is doing at the moment is gathering the information she needs to paint a picture and make a judgement. Nerves aside, you did very well, you answered her questions, you were clear and remarkably non-combative. Now Scarlet, what were you going to say before you were interrupted?"

John pursed his lips and Scarlet just shook her head and went back to her meal.

"Good," Mycroft told her, "you should try to eat something. I don't know how long Judge Hammond will spend talking to you, and regardless of Sherlock's actions, it's better to not be faint with hunger."

She shrugged, but did continue eating.

They headed back to the court-room with plenty of time to spare and when they were called in, Scarlet found she had a heavy heart and a desire to run away from this process. She stood in a wooden fashion and swayed slightly when Judge Hammond came back into the room.

"I'm reminding all of you now, that you are still under oath. Now, please sit down. Miss Watson, I've promised you a chat, and we're going to do that now." She smiled at Scarlet and Scarlet found herself relaxing slightly. She remained standing up as everyone else sat down.

"Miss Watson, I don't want to have to talk to you across the room, nor do I want you to be stood up for the whole time. Will you come and sit in the chair beside me please?"

Scarlet was froze and stared at her.

"If you'd prefer to stay with your parents that's fine too, but the chair in the box here is just a chair, it has no special significance. I believe Paul's even put a cushion on it so you're not uncomfortable. Will you come and sit by me?"

Scarlet nodded and walked forward. The chair in the witness box had been turned to face the Judge rather than the court. Scarlet found it fairly easy to block out everyone else.

"Scarlet, have you ever told a lie?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Can you remember any big lies?"

"Well, I told... I told John and Sherlock I was... going to... to school."

"Yes, that is a pretty big lie. Do you understand that you're not allowed to lie in this room while you're under oath?"

"Yes. That's called... it's... it's purse, percy... perjury. It's... illegal."

"Good."

"Also... it doesn't help. It doesn't... help you do your... job."

"No, that's true too. Now, what I want to hear about is what happened to you on Wednesday the eight of September."

"Er, I was at... at school. It was... it was lunch. We were in the... the playground."

"Who was with you?"

"My friend, Serene. We were there... just... next to the music block. Then some older boys... they said they wanted... they wanted... they wanted to talk to me."

"Did you know the names of these boys?"

"Yes. Serene knew them. They were..." she closed her eyes for a moment. "Paul... Knightly and Jason Borrell."

"Did they both come over to get you."

"No. No that was... er, another boy. His name was Phil. I don't know his... his surname. He came over... he said that Paul and, and Jason wanted to talk to me."

"Had you encountered Paul and Jason before that moment?"

"Yes. Yes, sometimes."

"Did they say anything to you before then, or were you just aware of them?"

"They... when I... walked past, they'd, they'd sometimes call, shout 'there's... there's nowt as... as queer as folk'."

"What did you do when that happened."

"Nothing, Your Honour."

"Why not?"

"I didn't know... I didn't know it was for me."

"So on that Wednesday, when you'd been summoned to talk to them, what did you think?"

"I was... I was worried."

"Why was that?"

"They... there were other... other children. They'd been called."

"They'd been called by Jason and Paul?"

"Yes. I mean, yes, Your Honour."

"What did you know about the other children?"

"They... they... came back, they were unhappy."

"Where did Jason and Paul want you to go?"

"Behind... behind the Music block. It was... we weren't supposed to go there."

"Why did you go?"

"Because, because Serene said, she said, if they asked for you... you had to go."

"How did Serene know the boys?"

"They lived... they were on... her, her, her," Scarlet closed her eyes again. "Her estate. Everyone knew them."

"Are you OK, Scarlet?"

She nodded.

"So, you were asked to go behind the music block to talk to them, and you were worried because they upset other children, and because behind the music block was out of bounds."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"What happened behind the music block?"

Scarlet swallowed. "Phil came too. He stood behind me. He... the other two... they said some stuff."

"Can you tell me what they said."

"They asked if I was... was Scarlet Watson, and, and I said 'yes'. Then they asked if... my Dad's were gay... and I said 'yes'. I asked them, 'so what?'. One of them, one said," Scarlet closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry, Your Honour, but he said... 'Does your Dad... does he take it... up the arse?'" She blushed.

"Did you answer him?"

"No, Your Honour."

"What did he say then?"

"He said, he said... 'does he just... bend over, bend over and just take it up the arse?'"

"Did you answer him then?"

"No. I didn't know, I didn't know what it meant."

"Do you know now?"

"Yes, Your honour."

"What happened then?"

"He just, he laughed. The other one, he then said, he said, 'they're both shirt-lifters, they go out... I bet they go out to find... the... the little boys.'"

"Why didn't you leave?"

"Phil, he was behind me."

"Did they say anything else?"

"They, they took my bag... they, they emptied the books, they were on the floor and they picked them up... they said, the said 'your Dads... like... cock. Let's draw them... some nice...pictures.' Then they took, er, my pencil case, and they, they drew on my, my books."

"I can imagine the pictures."

Scarlet didn't smile. She risked a glance over to her parents. John was sat with his hand in a fist over his mouth. Sherlock was staring at the floor with an ugly expression on his face. Mycroft looked calm, but he was frowning. He was the only one who looked at her. When she turned back to look at Judge Hammond, her resolve fell and she crumpled and cried. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. John was on his feet in an instant, but restrained by Mycroft's hand on his wrist he didn't walk forward and he sat down again.

"Paul, could you hand me that box of tissues, and pour a glass of water for Miss Watson?"

Judge Hammond passed the tissues to Scarlet and Paul poured and handed her some water.

"Scarlet, are you ready to go on?"

"Yes, Your Honour. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For... crying. For everything." She shrugged. "All of it." She wiped her eyes on the tissue. "I wish... wish I'd have gone, gone to orange, no, orange, no... school."

"Scarlet, you are a minor, I can arrange to take your testimony in a private room. I know you said it wasn't necessary when you were asked before the hearing, but would you prefer that now?"

Scarlet thought about this for a moment. She looked resigned. "No, I'm fine... This is, is fine. The bad bit... it's done."

"OK then. Can you tell me what happened next?"

"They, they said I could... leave. So I, I, I picked up my my books and, and I left."

"Phil let you go?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"What happened next, did you go back to the playground?"

"No, no, I, I went... I needed the... er... the girls toilets. I went there, the bell rang, but I didn't go to... to... to my form room."

"You stayed in the toilets?"

"Yes. I was, er, I was sick. I thought, I thought I was, I mean, sometimes... the, er, the migraines, sometimes, they make me sick, so I, I, I, looked for some, some pills."

"Did you think you had a Migraine?"

"No, Your Honour."

"But you took the pills anyway?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"You carry the pills in your bag?"

"I did, I did at Hunting-Harlow."

"But you hadn't at St Matthews?"

"No, there the, the secretary, Mrs Jacobs, she, she kept them. I don't... at Hill Rise."

"Did you take pills?"

"Yes. I did. I took, I took, I took four. I'm sorry." She hung her head.

"Four is more than your usual dose?"

"Yes."

"Why did you take four?"

"Because, because..." she wiped her eyes again. Eventually she shook her head. "I don't know."

"You don't know why you took the pills, or you don't know the right word to explain?"

"I don't know... why. I think, I... I just wanted... I think I wanted everything gone. To go away."

"Did you think the pills would do that?"

"I knew, I knew... I shouldn't take to many. Then I... I was scared, so, so I stopped taking... more."

"OK. So the bell had gone for the afternoon registration session. How long did you stay in the ladies?"

"I missed, I missed registration, but I went, I went to Science."

"Was Science the whole afternoon session?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did you tell your Science teacher what had happened at lunchtime?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Did you tell your Science teacher that you'd taken too many pills."

"No, Your Honour."

"Did you tell your Science teacher that you'd been sick?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Why did you go to Science class."

"I'm not... not good at Science."

"Did you talk to any of the other school staff about what had happened?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Why not?"

"I didn't, I didn't know them."

"You knew your form teacher though, what was her name?"

"His, he was Mister... Sinclair."

"Did you think you could talk to him?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Why not?"

"Because... I didn't know, I... I know I should have."

"Yes, I know. Why didn't you?"

"I thought... he didn't, he didn't like me."

"What made you think that?"

"Because, I'd seen him... he was, he was... something had happened, he was talking to some, some of the others, he put on a voice, they all laughed."

"What sort of voice?"

"He, he put on a... a gay sounding voice, and they, they laughed."

"Did you mention this to anyone else?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Why not?"

"Because, because it was, it was, a jester, jester, jest. It was a... joke."

"But it was a joke you found offensive, and it made you feel that Mister Sinclair didn't like you."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"So there was no-one at the school you could talk to?"

"I don't know. Maybe, but, but I didn't, I didn't know everyone yet."

"Your new school is Hill Rise?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"If this happened again, at Hill Rise, which teachers would you talk to there?"

"Er, my form teacher, Mrs Cronin. Or, or... Mrs Khan, or Mr Lewis."

"Who are Mrs Khan and Mr Lewis?"

"She's... the, the, bullying teacher. No, she doesn't... she's doesn't teach... bullying, but, she's there... she er, teaches... about bullying. She doesn't... it's not like... no classes, but... in... assembly and stuff, she talks."

"And Mr Lewis."

"He's my... Art Teacher."

"Do you like going to Hill Rise?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Have you attended every day?"

"No, no, Your Honour. I... I had a migraine... last term. Then Mrs Hudson died."

"Who's Mrs Hudson?"

"She's, she's, she's..." Scarlet closed her eyes.

John stood, "Your Honour, Mrs Hudson was our landlady but she lived downstairs, she was like a grandmother to Scarlet, she saw her every day."

"Doctor Watson, I would like Scarlet to answer these questions as far as she is able, if either she or I need help, we'll ask you. Please sit down."

John blushed, but sat down.

"How much time did you take off when Mrs Hudson died."

"Er, Friday. I didn't go... the day, the day we found her. Then, then I didn't, so I could go er, to her funeral."

"So two days."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did you ask your parents if you could take those days off, or did they tell you you could without asking"

"Er... I don't, don't remember. I... there was straw, sorry, lots going on."

John had raised his hand.

"Yes, Doctor Watson."

"Your Honour, I'd like to let you know, the court know, that Scarlet found Mrs Hudson that morning. It was a very stressful event for her. I don't remember who decided whether Scarlet should stay home or not, but I knew for myself that she didn't have to go if she didn't want to."

"Thank you, Doctor Watson. OK, Scarlet," Judge Hammond continued. "When you went home on the eighth of September, did you explain to your Dads what had happened?"

"No, Your Honour."

"Why not?"

"They were, they were, er, rowing."

"Do you know what they were rowing about?"

"No. No they'd finished. They just... I could just tell. It would, it would have been... about me."

"Why would they be rowing about you?"

"I'm...I'm hard work."

"Did they tell you this?"

"No. They didn't."

"OK then. Scarlet, the hard work, that relates to your disability, yes?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How is that your fault?"

"I, I, I... climbed the house."

"I'm sorry, you did what?"

"I... climbed up, er... the front of the house."

"On the outside?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Why?"

"I wanted, I wanted to... to get inside."

"Didn't they give you a key?"

"No, Your Honour, I was... ten."

"Do you have a key now?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Good. Don't lose that key. And if you do, call a locksmith or your parents."

"Yes, Your Honour." Scarlet glanced up at her. "Your Honour?"

"Yes."

"They, they don't... they're better now. They, they, er, working. They're... talking. They go to, to... counselling. They're, they're good Dads."

"Everything's perfect now?"

"No, Your Honour, but, but better."

"So let's go back to the afternoon of the eighth of September. If they weren't rowing at that moment, why didn't you tell them?"

"Because... I didn't want them to, to be upset more."

"So what happened the next day?"

"I got, I got ready for school. Like normal. I left... I started going, I was on the, the, the bus. Then I didn't... get off. The bus, the bus goes on to the... grey, grey," Scarlet looked frustrated and closed her eyes again. "Library. I got off there, and I went, I went to the library."

"What about the next day?"

"I went straight there. To the, the, the library."

"Did you go to the library every day?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"You weren't tempted to maybe go shopping?"

"I didn't have er... money."

"How did you know what to study in the library?"

"I, I, I, used... my time-table. From School. There's stuff... there's web stuff about, about the... the..." She closed her eyes again. She opened them and shook her head. "Sorry, no. The word... I mean, the stuff you're supposed to, to learn... in year seven."

"The National Curriculum?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"So you followed what was being taught during your school year, and you tried to replicate that at the library."

"Yes, your Honour."

"And you even made up home-work assignments?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did you think you'd be able to do that forever?"

"No. Not at, not at first. I was... I thought someone would say something. I thought, I thought the police would come. Then, then no-one did. It was nice."

"So nobody reported you and nobody contacted the police or the school."

"No, Your Honour."

"Did anyone at the library ask you why you weren't at school?"

"No, Your Honour. I sat... I sat in, in, in, the middle."

"In the middle of the library?"

"Yes, yes, Your Honour. I... I... I..., er, if you want, want to... hide, better, better be in... sight. Not, not in the corner."

"Because if a child's hiding in the corner of a library, then they're likely to be up to no good, but if they happily sit down in plain sight, then they must know they have permission, so no-one asks for proof that permission, is that what you mean?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Did you work that out, or did someone tell you."

"Sherlock told me. But not, not about this. Just, other times."

"Have you seen him do something similar? Walk into somewhere he's not supposed to be, just acting as though he's allowed."

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Do you think he's proud of you?"

"Yes, Your Honour. I know... he is. Not, not, not for skipping school though."

"No. But for other things?"

"Yes, Your Honour. And, and, and... I think, for not... not getting caught. Probably."

"OK, thank you very much for your testimony today, Scarlet. You've done very well for a girl of eleven."

"Twelve."

Judge Hammond frowned and looked through her notes. She smiled. "Happy Birthday, Miss Watson."

Scarlet flushed. "Thank you, Your Honour."

"Not an ideal way to spend your birthday."

"Well, this or, or school. And this is... is... is... important."

"Don't you think school is important too?"

"Yes. But not like this."

"Why does this feel important to you?"

"Because... because..." Scarlet breathed for a while and organised her thoughts. "I was reading... this guy, something Hari... Johann Hari. He writes stuff for, for the er, the Telegraph. He wrote something... he said... he said that teachers have to, to look after gay children. He said... he said... gay children need special..." she closed her eyes again. "Protection. They need... they need to feel like they're... there's nothing wrong with them. They shouldn't be made to feel... feel that they're less, less than anyone else. I think, I think that might not be happening at, at Hunting-Harlow. So Gay, Gay children there... it will be, be hard for them. I think. Johann said, Johann Hari said, that kids... they're worried a lot, they, they get ill. They, they, they get depressed. They need protection. They need to know, that it's, that it's, OK. It's not...evil."

"Thank you, Scarlet, for your testimony. I'm not going to call on you again, you can relax now. OK then, we're going to take a fifteen minute break now, and when we come back, you go and sit back with your family."

"All rise!" Paul called.

They stood as Judge Hammond left the room. Paul opened the side gate on the witness box for Scarlet to leave.

Scarlet walked slowly back to her parents. They were looking at her now, both giving her warm, encouraging smiles but she didn't meet their eyes. John pulled her into a hug, and Scarlet reached over to stroke her hair for a while.

"Scarlet, I'm sorry," John said. "I'm sorry that we weren't there for you. I'm sorry, I really am."

She shook her head. "It's... if I wasn't... ill. It's... my fault."

"No, no Scarlet!" Sherlock said, taking her from John to hug her himself. "It is not your fault. Sometimes, thing just happen. This situation is not ideal, but you've been failed by more people than you have failed. This is not your fault."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve again.

"You know what else?" Sherlock went on. "You're right. I am proud of you. I am proud of you every single day."

"Scarlet," Mycroft said. "Might I suggest you use this time to freshen up, and get a drink."

She pulled away from Sherlock and nodded. Mycroft lead them all outside and showed Scarlet where the Ladies was. When she'd disappeared, Mycroft turned around to the others.

"John, Sherlock, I think you two should also take this time to calm down. I take it some of Scarlet's testimony was new to you?"

"Yes," John said. "She'd explained some of it, in general. She hadn't given the whole story before."

"Right, you need to take the time to file the whole story in your mind, and stay focused on what's important."

"Scarlet's important!" Sherlock snapped. "Nothing else is!"

"Scarlet seems clear about what's important to her. Do you think that now would be a good time to fall apart and fail to back her up in what she's doing here?"

Sherlock pouted and stamped.

"Good, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Glad that you're on board. Go and freshen up, come back here and we'll get some water and go back in."

John pulled Sherlock towards the Gents. Scarlet emerged looking calmer. She gave Mycroft a small, tentative smile.

"Scarlet, you did extremely well."

"Thank you."

"I'm impressed with you, and I believe Judge Hammond is too. And I want to remind you what I said before, she needs to know the truth of the situation so that she can make a correct judgement. You've enabled her to do that, so well done. You should be proud of yourself."

Scarlet nodded, not looking particularly proud. They were silent until John and Sherlock came back to them.

"Right," Mycroft said, "I saw a vending machine in the lobby. I suggest we go and find some warm liquid that bares a passing resemblance to coffee."

They followed him to the lobby, but had barely had time to swallow any of their drinks before they were called back into the court-room. They stood again as Judge Hammond re-entered.

"Right, we're very nearly there now. There are a couple of points that I'd still like some clarity on, before I give my judgement. Please sit down."

"Mister Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stood.

"Can you give me an outline of what happened following the visit from Children's Services?"

"We waited for Scarlet to come home that evening, and we discussed with her the incident that she's described to you. Following that we decided that it was best for Scarlet to stay at home until we'd arranged a meeting with the school to discuss the incident. The following morning John called the school to arrange an appointment to speak to Mrs Cameron, and then called Mrs Jenson at Social Services to explain what we'd arranged."

"Did Mrs Jenson think that it was appropriate for Scarlet to stay home from school?"

Sherlock looked at John who raised his hand. Judge Hammond nodded at him to stand and speak.

"Yes, Your Honour, she said it made sense and she asked us to get in touch after the meeting too to update her."

"Thank you. Mister Holmes, can you tell me what happened at the meeting with Mrs Cameron."

"We met Mrs Cameron in her office, and she asked us why we weren't dealing directly with the Truancy office at Children's Services. We explained that we were talking with them, but we needed to form a plan with the school too. Our aim at that time was to get Scarlet back to school, that's what we wanted to plan with Mrs Cameron. Mrs Cameron reminded us that getting Scarlet to school was our responsibility, and we reminded her that she needed to keep the children safe while they were at school. I asked her why she hadn't called us to let us know that Scarlet hadn't been attending, and that was when she told us that Scarlet had been identified as needing, I think the term she used was 'special concern.' We asked her to explain what it was about Scarlet that needed special concern."

"And what did she tell you?"

"She said that she felt that Scarlet had a speech impediment, and should have had a SEN statement, and that Scarlet's home situation was another area of concern."

"Lets talk about the SEN statement. Had you at any time discussed assessing Scarlet for a SEN statement with anybody?"

"Not prior to the meeting at Hunting-Harlow, Your Honour. I didn't know what one was until that meeting."

"Doctor Watson, did you know what a SEN statement was?"

John stood. "Yes, Your Honour."

"Was there a particular reason you didn't get Scarlet assessed for a SEN statement?"

"There were... I'm sorry, Your Honour, it wasn't something I really thought about until after our meeting with Mrs Cameron. Before then, with the various therapy sessions she gets at the hospital, and the help that St. Matthews was giving to us and to Scarlet, it didn't occur to me that she needed further help on top of that."

"Does Scarlet have a SEN statement now?"

"No, Your Honour, we still haven't had Scarlet assessed because where she is now, Hill Rise, she's again getting the support she needs from the school and from us. I don't think she needs a SEN statement. She's keeping up with the other children."

"Thank you, Doctor Watson. Mister Holmes, did Mrs Cameron elaborate with regards to Scarlet's home set up."

"Yes, she said that a female child needed a woman's influence in her life."

"How did you respond to that?"

"He shouted at me!"

"Mrs Cameron, you will not call out in my court-room!" Judge Hammond said sharply. Mrs Cameron raised her hand. "Yes, Mrs Cameron?"

"Your Honour, would you please ask him if he shouted at me?"

"No, I will not."

"Your Honour, he threatened me!"

"Mister Holmes threatened you?"

"No, not him, the other one."

"Please sit down, Mrs Cameron."

"But he threatened me! He shouted and he attempted to belittle and intimidate me!"

"Mrs Cameron, you will be silent until spoken to or I will hold you in contempt of court. Mister Holmes, how did you respond to the statement from Mrs Cameron that Scarlet needed a woman's influence in her life?"

"I didn't, Your Honour. John responded, and told Mrs Cameron that Scarlet has several influential women in her life. He expressed the opinion that Mrs Cameron didn't care about the incident with Scarlet because her parents are gay."

"Did he raise his voice?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How did Mrs Cameron respond?"

"Your Honour, we didn't give Mrs Cameron the opportunity to respond."

"You shouted at her, and you left?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"OK, please sit down."

"Mrs Cameron, now is your time to talk. What I would like to know from you, are details of the measures put in place at Hunting-Harlow to prevent bullying."

"Our school has good discipline, Your Honour. Incidents of bullying are dealt with swiftly."

"What reporting procedures do you have in place for victims of bullying?"

"We expect them to tell at teacher."

"Is this explained to them when they start at Hunting-Harlow?"

"We expect the children to use their common sense."

"What is in place to support victims of bullying?"

"We,Your Honour, we will punish anyone who bullies another child."

"That's not what I asked, Mrs Cameron. What is in place to support the _victims_ of bullying."

"Your Honour, I wouldn't feel comfortable allowing victims to have retribution."

"I'm not talking about retribution. I'm talking about support, what do you do at Hunting-Harlow to ensure that the victim of bullying feels happy and confident to walk back into the school afterwards?"

"It would depend on the child and the specific circumstances."

"So there's no set procedure or guidelines. How many times in the previous school year did you have to discipline a child for bullying?"

"I don't have the exact figures here, Your Honour."

"To the best of your knowledge, would you say that there were more or less incidents than, say twenty."

"Oh, much less than twenty."

"Less than ten?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Around about five? Or less than that."

"I would say two or three would be the maximum."

"So you've caught and dealt with a maximum of three bullies, or individual occasions of bullying. That tells me that there's very little bullying at your school, or that you're not very adept at finding the bullies."

"I think there's very little bullying at Hunting-Harlow, Your Honour. They're good children."

"Do you consider..." Judge Hammond checked her notes. "Do you consider Jason Borrell and Paul Knightly to be good children?"

Mrs Cameron was silent.

"I asked you a question, Mrs Cameron. Do you consider Jason Borrell and Paul Knightly to be good children?"

"There haven't been any incidents regarding them reported to me."

"I'm beginning to feel that your reporting procedure, which relies on the common sense of eleven-year-olds, might be slightly flawed, Mrs Cameron. Following the meeting you had with Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson, what did you do to investigate the incident relating to Scarlet Watson?"

"Well, they didn't give me any names."

"Did you talk to Scarlet's form teacher, Mister Sinclair?"

"He didn't know anything about it."

"Did either of you talk to any of Scarlet's friends?"

"She would have had friends in the form, Your Honour, but none of them chose to raise any incident with Mister Sinclair."

"So nothing has been done to identify and resolve the source of bullying in this case."

"Well, Your Honour, we only have Scarlet's word that the incident happened at all."

"Do you think that she's lying?"

"I think that it hasn't been proved. There isn't any evidence."

"Miss Watson just told me, under oath, what happened to her on the eighth of September. Are you accusing her or perjury?"

Mrs Cameron hesitated a moment. "No, Your Honour."

"Good, I'm glad, Mrs Cameron, I don't like it when people imply that I've been hoodwinked by twelve-year-old children. I sit in this seat because I know when someone is lying or is being evasive. I can spot that Mrs Cameron, so you need to understand that as far as this court is concerned, there is no doubt that an incident of bullying happened to Scarlet Watson. That happened, and as yet, no-one has provided any evidence to suggest that anyone at Hunting-Harlow school did anything to either prevent it happening, or to support Scarlet after the event. Right, I'm about ready to make my judgement and my recommendations. Before I do, does anyone wish to make a final statement."

Mycroft and Mister Chandler both raised their hands.

"Mister Holmes first."

Mycroft stood. "Your Honour, I have of Scarlet her whole life. I have known her well for the past ten years. All I can give you is my word that you could not find two more committed parents than Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Like all parents, they provide for Scarlet with regards to food and shelter and safety. Like all parents, they care about her well being. Following Scarlet's accident, both of them have taken the time to research her disability, to contact specialist teams, to go through therapy exercises with her. Again, nothing beyond what is expected from parents of a child with her difficulties.

"The point at which I believe that they do go beyond the normal levels of parental care, is in relation to Scarlet's education. They do not believe that her education ends at the school gate. It's not unusual for parents to help with or assess their child's homework, but what John and Sherlock do goes significantly beyond that. Scarlet's education is supplemented constantly. If a trip can be made educational, it will be made educational. If there are areas where they feel their own ability is lacking, they call on their various friends or talk to her school, or research for themselves. Sometimes, I get the impression that Scarlet herself would like them to, perhaps, relax about it a little.

"Sherlock and John don't wait for termly parents evenings to find out where Scarlet is excelling or where she requires help. The dialogues that they have established with both Saint Matthews and Hill Rise have been constant and dynamic. The idea that there is an aspect of Scarlet's education that has been neglected is utterly absurd.

"John and Sherlock do not have a perfect marriage. They would be the first to admit this, but as Scarlet says, they are persevering to make things better for themselves and for Scarlet. They are working harder for their family than any other people I know. Your Honour, there is nothing at all about their marriage that is in any way worse because both Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson happen to both be men. Thank you, Your Honour."

He sat down again.

"Thank you, Mister Holmes. Mister Chandler please."

"Your Honour, it has been stated by the Watson-Holmes that Mrs Cameron endangers the children in her school, and I feel bound to point out that this is clearly not true. Mrs Cameron cares for the children at her school. She cares about education, and the grades the children get there, and the school's position in the league tables show the commitment the school has to education. In addition to this, Mrs Cameron and her staff go beyond the statistics and the league tables to also care for the moral well being of the children. She is a Christian, in a Christian country, teaching in a Christian school, and she is using the best and most appropriate guidebook to care for the moral welfare of her students. To suggest that she turns away from a major section of these moral guideline for the convenience of the few at the detriment of the many, denies her her right to practise her own religion within her working life.

"Scarlet Watson herself has argued the case that gay people are more often ill, more often depressed than heterosexual people. The reason for this is clear; it is an unhealthy lifestyle. It is an immoral lifestyle. It is an unnatural lifestyle. The vast majority of people in this country are heterosexual, and the reasons for this are also clear; the physical survival of the species relies on men having sexual intercourse with women, not other men. And it's not just for the species. Our society depends on children growing up to understand what their role should be, to look to role-models within their gender so that they can carry on the fine traditions that this country and our society are based on.

"Reference has been made today, to the idea of gay children. Your Honour, children are not sexual beings. They are children. They reach a point at which their sexuality begins to develop, and at this point at which they need protection from the corruptions that certain sectors of society are pushing at them. This is what Mrs Cameron does. She protects children, she cares for children, and she prevents the corruption of children. She, and teachers like her must be allowed to continue at this work, or our species, our _society_, will fail. Thank you, Your Honour."

"Thank you, Mister Chandler. Doctor Watson, Mr Holmes, I'm ready to make my judgement. Please stand."

They did so.

* * *

**Duh, duh, Duuuuuuuuh!**

**Sorry, this was an unintentional cliffhanger, and by the time you've read as far as this the next chapter will be up anyway, it's a quick little one, then the court stuff and the head-teacher stuff will be over.**

**Also, sorry, I completely forgot to put a stenographer in the room, so lets all just pretend there was one there the whole time.**

**Pip xxx**


	42. Court 3

"_Thank you, Mister Chandler. Doctor Watson, Mr Holmes, I'm ready to make my Judgement. Please stand."_

_They did so._

"Doctor Watson, Mister Holmes, I think that what has happened is this. You have been blessed with an intelligent child, who wants to engage with the world. Because she is engaged and interested, you have encouraged her to have a voice, to consider her arguments, to make choices. What you've ended up with, is an intelligent, engaging and _confident_ child. Despite the difficulties Scarlet has with her speech, her confidence shines through. You should be proud of her, and you should be proud of yourselves.

"Unfortunately, confident children don't tend to give their parents an easy ride. Perhaps no harder than any other child, but it's certainly not easy ride. The problem with a confident child is this; if you take your eye off them for a second, they're likely to start making choices for themselves. Because they are children, they often don't have the logic and experience they need to make the _right_ choice. So a confident child may choose to scale the walls of a house, rather than wait patiently for her parents. They may choose to protect their parents from events that really should be shared with them. They may choose to educate themselves rather than go to school. Solutions driven by their self-confidence, but lacking logic and experience.

"I think that the two of you found yourselves distracted by the various trials and difficulties that life throws at people, and you took your eye off your child, so she started making these decisions for herself. I'm not surprised, you've had more than enough to distract you recently. While I don't necessarily excuse it, I can understand how it happened. I suspect that had either of you been fully attentive to her, the whole of her, not just her disability, this situation might have been avoided.

"You know this. You've started making changes and I'm very glad to see this and I want that to continue. I'm not making it a command or an instruction, because from what I've seen today, I'm confident that you know that it's what you have to do next. But I do want you to consider this; Scarlet looks up to you, she wants to emulate your behaviour. I think it might benefit her to see that sometimes people have to ask for help, and that they can do this without embarrassment or shame.

"Doctor Watson, and Mister Holmes, it is your responsibility to ensure that your child gets to school. That's what the law says, that's what I say. I am not prepared to make a judgement against you at this time, but it will be noted and placed on Scarlet's School and Social Services files, that if there is a repeat experience of truancy from Scarlet, the LEA _will_ press charges against you. I am glad Scarlet is in the room to hear this. I think that that is likely to give you the protection you need to avoid that situation. You can sit down."

"Mrs Cameron, please stand. Mrs Cameron, from what I have heard in this room today, I have grave concerns about what is happening at Hunting-Harlow school. My concerns are as follows. One, there is no clear procedure to inform parents when their child fails to attend school. This is a problem. For a period of three weeks, nobody at the school knew where Scarlet Watson was. Nobody checked whether Doctor Watson and Mister Holmes knew where their daughter was. As far as I can tell, nobody at school _cared_ where Scarlet was. This is not acceptable. You failed in your care for Scarlet Watson.

"My second concern is that there is no clear system to tackle bullying at Hunting-Harlow school. It's not discussed with the children, it doesn't even seem to be discussed with the staff at the school despite the fact that you are legally required to train your staff to deal with bullying. There appears to be systematic bullying within the school, and no-one is doing anything to address this. Consequently, when Scarlet Watson was bullied, and yes, it was bullying, she had no-one to turn to. You did not only fail in your care for Scarlet Watson, but you have failed in your care for countless other children who are being threatened and intimidated at Hunting-Harlow school.

"My third concern is that homophobia appears to be rife at Hunting-Harlow school. This is a problem for gay students, and there _are_ gay students at Hunting-Harlow, and I will not be told that children from fifteen to eighteen are not sexual beings. This is a clear and obvious concern, but further to this, the homophobia is so endemic, that a child was judged and condemned not for any of her own behaviour, but because her _parents _happen to be gay. This is intolerable!

"I will not be told that that in order to live a Christian life, you are required to be homophobic. It is a nonsense. I will not be told that the homophobia at Hunting-Harlow is protecting the morals of the students. I will not be told that homophobia is anything but detrimental to the species, to the society, and at Hunting-Harlow, to the children who are expecting the school to offer a safe learning environment. I'm not just speaking about the gay children, I'm talking about _all_ of them.

"My judgement is as follows. In the case of child endangerment against Mrs Cameron, I find in favour of the plaintiff. In the case of discrimination based on sexual orientation, I find in favour of the plaintiff. I reject the claim of defamation of character from Mrs Cameron. I reject the claim of restriction of religious freedom from Mrs Cameron.

"I will be making a recommendation to the Department of Education that an full and urgent inspection is made at Hunting-Harlow school, to audit all of their welfare procedures and to assess the level of bullying at the school. I will be recommending that Mrs Cameron is suspended from her role of Head-teacher at Hunting-Harlow school until after the inspection as been completed. I will be recommending that if sufficient evidence can be found during the inspection at Hunting-Harlow school, that the Crown brings criminal charges of Child Endangerment against Mrs Cameron. You can sit down.

"Scarlet Watson."

Scarlet stood up.

"Scarlet Watson, you are a child. There is a reason that you need to have forms and permissions and things signed by your parents; these are there to protect you. A child need guidance from adults, they need to tap in to all the experience and wisdom that the adult has accrued. Scarlet, I think you have great potential. I suspect, should you want to, and with your parent's help, you could go and study Law and become an excellent spokesperson for Human Rights. I'm not saying you have to, I'm saying you could. At the moment, what you do have to do is go to school. You go to school every day that you are physically able, baring events such as funerals and court appearances, but I hope you don't experience too many more of them.

"When your parents brought this case to court, they were not looking for any monetary compensation for what happened to you at school. Do you feel that you are owed monetary compensation for any reason?"

Scarlet looked at Mycroft.

"She's asking you if you want money," he said quietly.

"Oh, no! No, no, Your Honour."

"Good answer. Scarlet, what happened to you at school on the Eighth of September should not have happened to you, and on behalf of the Crown, I would like to offer you a full apology. It should not have happened, and I am sorry that it did. I hope that the measures that I've put in place will prevent something like this happening at Hunting-Harlow again, are you happy with that?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Good. Continue in your studies. Continue to read and research. Continue to think about the big questions. But this weekend, Miss Watson, you are owed a birthday. The court isn't going to arrange that, but you make sure your parents do."

Judge Hammond stood up.

"All rise," Paul called. He followed Judge Hammond from the room.

Mrs Cameron and Mister Chandler left quickly. John, Sherlock and Scarlet sank back down to their chairs.

"Did you want to stay for a while?" Mycroft asked them, frowning.

"That was..." John started, but didn't finish.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Mycroft?" Scarlet said, "She said... she said... What did she say?"

"Was there a part of the judgement that you didn't understand?"

"Yes, er, yes. Dad, and... Dad, are they in trouble?"

"They've had their wrists slapped but nothing more."

"But... there's a file."

"There's always a file, Scarlet. It won't be looked at again as long as all absences are authorised by Hill Rise. You shouldn't worry about it."

"She said... Mrs Cameron would be... prosecuted."

"No, she asked for evidence to see whether there is grounds for a prosecution."

"Wasn't this... that?"

"No. This was a civil hearing."

"Do we... do we... need to do this again?"

"No, if there is a prosecution, it will be from the Crown, and not from you or your parents, Judge Hammond has lifted the burden on them. The events that were discussed at this hearing may be reviewed, or they may start with entirely new evidence. For the time being, you should put it from your mind. We should all go home, and you should start planning your Birthday."

She gave him a faint smile.

"Right, Sherlock, John, come on. Let's go. I'll arrange to have my car here in ten minutes and I'll drive you home."

They followed him, silently from the room. As they walked down the steps of the court, they saw Mister Chandler and Mrs Cameron talking to a reporter with stern expressions on their faces. Scarlet watched for a moment until Mycroft took her hand and calmly led her away.

"Who was she talking to?" She asked.

"At a guess, it will have been a Christian newspaper. The general press may pick up the story, or they may not."

"Should, should, should we talk to them?"

"To the press? Do you want to?"

"No. But I'm, er... supposed to, er take guidance, remember."

"My guidance to you would be no, don't talk to the press. When your parents have rejoined us in the land of the living, you can ask them too, but at the moment they appear to be away with the fairies."

They walked up to Sherlock and John just as the car pulled in for them. They all bundled inside and had a short, silent drive home. John walked, zombie-like into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Sherlock slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. Scarlet disappeared up to her room.

Mycroft watched the other two for a moment. "You know, anyone would think that you lost. The result was right and just, and everything happened as you had hoped it would."

"Yes, but," John started. "But it was our fault. It was. We weren't there for her when we should have been."

"So among the many comments about her being an intelligent, confident child whom you should be proud of, you're focussing on the fact that you quite understandably missed something."

"It was a big thing."

"John, yes, you missed something and there were repercussions from that, but you haven't been prosecuted for it and it you won't let it happen again. I don't think you could have hoped for anything more."

"No, no I suppose not," He sighed and shook his head. "I just wish..." He drifted off.

"If wishes were horses, John, beggars would ride. You can't go back and change what has happened, but you can prevent it happening again. Moreover, you will have prevented it happening to other students, and I would hope you will have prevented gay children growing up thinking they're abhorrent to the rest of the world. I think you should be proud of yourselves."

"Yeah. It doesn't feel that way though." He shook himself and started making the tea. "Thank you, for all your help today, Mycroft. And for your closing statement. Thank you."

"You're welcome. But it was nothing, really."

"It helped that the other solicitor was an absolute numpty," Sherlock put in.

"He was, wasn't he!" Mycroft agreed. "I had been worried because I know that that organisation has money. I personally could think of four or five decent legal arguments that I could have put on Mrs Cameron's behalf had I felt so inclined. I can only imagine that they chose not to spend that money on decent Solicitors."

"Well, thank you for guiding us anyway," John said. "It clearly worked. Did you want coffee?"

"No, I'll leave you alone for the evening now. Goodbye, John, Sherlock." He nodded at them both and left.

John sat down next to Sherlock and gave him the tea.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "John, are you about to cry?"

"No! No of course not!" John blinked quickly and sniffed.

"Mycroft's right. We shouldn't focus on the fact that we let Scarlet down. We should focus on the bigger picture."

"Yeah. I know." He looked away.

"John?" When John didn't answer, Sherlock pulled him into a hug. "John, I think it will stop feeling as though we're the worst parents in the world before long. I hope so anyway."

"Yeah." He was silent for a moment. "So, what do you think we should do for Scarlet's birthday?"

"I think that this is something we're allowed to ask Scarlet's views on."

"Yeah. She is brilliant isn't she?"

"She is."

"I mean, even though it wasn't the _right _thing to do, she tried to make it as right as she possibly could."

"Yes."

"And she cares about people. And she thinks about things. And I didn't know she reads newspapers, but she does. She's interested."

"Yes."

"So, maybe... perhaps, we didn't mess up too badly after all."

"No. In fact, if you consider the character of the child to be a reflection of the parents child-rearing skills, then we must be brilliant really."

"Yeah."

"Let's not make her feel that she can't talk to us again though."

"No."

"No."

"How do you think we can avoid that in the future?" John asked.

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Well, I'm going to start dinner. Making sure she doesn't starve; that I can do."

* * *

**Right, I think I'm vaguely satisfied that this is complete now, and I'm not going to revisit the Head-teacher again. **

**Thanks very much for reading, and I'm very sorry that I haven't replied to recent reviews. As the chapter grew into two, and then three, I became completely focussed on getting it finished, and this one was _hard!_ Normal services will now be resumed.**

**Thanks again for the well-wishes, I am indeed well on the road to recovery so that feels good. I'm not sure what's going to be up next. Oh yes! If I can get it out soon, there will be a separate, one-shot story for you look out for.**

**Pip xxx**


	43. Drugs

**I have loads of promised prompts which I hope to get around to, possibly this week while I'm _still_ at home with lungs full of fluid that just won't shift, dammit. Anyhow, I'm skipping over all the promises at the moment as this prompt came in on the last chapter, and it started skipping about in my head.**

_**In your other story, Scarlet asked about Sherlock's drug taking, and so was taken to see Lestrade and Mycroft, and the story goes on to Mycroft thinking about the 2 occasions that Sherlock 'lapsed'.**_

_**I would love to read that story in this genre, only with Mycroft telling John the occasions that led Sherlock to visit his home. I'm not sure if Scarlet would need to hear that part of it, but I would love to read John's reaction to the knowledge. - Erin59**_

* * *

_This starts a day after Depression 4._

John struggled towards consciousness. It felt as though his tongue was far too large for his mouth and his eyelids had glued themselves to his eyeballs. He lay in bed wondering what on earth had woken him, then he heard the intercom again. Whoever was downstairs was persistent. He wondered if it was Sherlock having forgotten his keys, but Sherlock would have called his mobile by now and it was by it's bed with no missed calls listed. After a few minutes of deliberation he chose to stay where he was. There was no-one that he wanted to see or talk to.

After a period of about five minutes, he heard the lock on his door turn and someone open the door. He decided it was best to check that he wasn't being robbed and got out of bed to stagger to his bedroom door.

"Mycroft?"

Mycroft turned to look down the hallway at him.

"Ah, John. I thought you must be in."

"You have a key to my flat?"

"Yes. You weren't answering the intercom and I wanted to come in."

John stared at him, feeling quite dozy. "Sherlock's not here at the moment."

"No, that's fine. I wanted to see you."

"Oh. Good."

They continued to stare at each other for a while. After a moment, John remembered himself.

"I'm sorry, would you like to come in for tea?"

"Coffee if you have it. Thank you."

John padded along to the kitchen, feeling vaguely aware that he was looking shabby in his pyjamas and he wasn't smelling too fresh either. He was attacked by the need to yawn again.

"John, did I wake you?" Mycroft asked.

"Yeah. But it's fine. Sit down."

"It's eleven thirty."

"Yeah."

"Are you unwell?"

"No. Just had a couple of bad nights." He yawned again. "Sorry," he muttered.

Mycroft sat at the kitchen table in silence, looking around John's flat. John once again got the impression that every aspect of his life was going to be listed to him at any second. Mycroft resisted though, simply thanking John for the coffee that he handed over. John sunk onto a kitchen chair, opposite Mycroft.

"What do you want?" he asked. In his head, he'd intended 'how can I help you' but Mycroft didn't seem offended.

"John, I want to ask you what your intentions are regarding my brother."

John stared. "What?"

"It hasn't escaped my attention that Sherlock has been here every day since Christmas Eve. I want to know whether you are attempting to pursue a relationship with him."

John stared some more. "What?"

Mycroft frowned. "John, are you sure you're quite well? You haven't hit your head or anything?"

"No, no, no. It's just... what are you talking about?"

Mycroft clicked his tongue in disgust. "I don't see that it's difficult, John. Are you pursuing a relationship with my brother or not?"

John was stumped. A number of possible replies passed through his mind, including 'yes', 'no!', and 'Actually, he's the one chasing after me, so there!'. He gazed at Mycroft wondering whether he should just collapse on the floor or something as a distraction, which would certainly be easier than trying to follow this conversation.

"He's your brother, why don't you ask him?" he said. He was vaguely disappointed with his own reply.

"John, it might have escaped your notice, but Sherlock and I don't have a close relationship. This isn't the sort of thing he would tell me about."

"Well, then, maybe it's not your business."

"I disagree."

"He's a grown up. He can sleep with whoever he wants to."

"So you are sleeping with each other?"

"No."

"But you intend to at some point."

John couldn't quite find an answer to this. "I don't know," he admitted.

Mycroft sighed again. "John, I don't understand why these questions are so hard for you to answer!"

"Have you ever been at the beginning of a relationship, Mycroft?"

Mycroft flushed. "John, I don't quite understand why you're being so evasive. Perhaps it's true that I lack much experience of relationships, but I know Sherlock. I need you to understand that he's... he's more fragile than he pretends to be. He gets hurt."

"Wait a second, is this the 'if you hurt my brother, I'll duff you up' conversation?"

"John, I have no intention of _duffing_ anyone up. But John, you're not gay. You know you're not gay. Are you just toying with him?"

"No! No I'm not! I just... it's not like that."

"John, has Sherlock ever told you about his drug use?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"As much as I've cared to ask him about."

"Then I think perhaps you should ask him about the rest of it."

The front door opened and two laughing people came in. Scarlet came dashing into the kitchen.

"Look, Daddy! I gotted you flowers!"

She handed him a mostly dead bouquet of dandelions.

"Thank you, Poppet."

Sherlock followed her in with a smile, which slid from his face as he noticed Mycroft.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked him.

"I came for a cup of coffee with John."

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John, then back to Mycroft. "Why?"

"Am I not allowed to have a coffee with a friend?"

"He's not your friend. Get out."

"Sherlock..."

"No, Mycroft. You can't be here! Get out!"

"Sherlock..."

"I won't ask you again. Get out of this flat now! How dare you come round here bothering John!"

Sherlock was shaking with anger. Mycroft stood and walked calmly towards the door, with Sherlock trailing him. As Mycroft got to the door, he turned and looked at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I am concerned for you. That's all."

"_Don't_ interfere in my life, Mycroft. Don't destroy this for me!"

"I wouldn't dream..."

"Shut up! Stay away from John. He doesn't need your sort of bullshit right now."

"I'm sure John..."

Sherlock shoved Mycroft hard into the hall. He staggered backwards and dropped his umbrella. Sherlock watched him darkly as he stooped to pick it up, then he shut the door and leaned against it for a moment.

He gathered himself and went back in to John and Scarlet. John looked up at him.

"Sherlock, are you OK?"

"Yes. Yes I'm fine. I just don't want him here."

"Throwing him out was possibly a bit over the top."

"You threw Harry out."

"That was different. And there was no actual throwing."

"There was none here either. It was more of a push." He smiled, but John didn't smile with him.

"Sherlock, there was no need. He's fine, he's concerned about you that's all."

"I can't believe you bought into that. What did he want?"

"He wanted to warn me not to hurt you."

Sherlock laughed. "Really? Him against you, I'd pick you any day of the week." He looked at John and softened slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm OK."

"Nausea better?"

"I think it's getting better, yes."

"Did you get enough sleep?"

"Well, I got some. I'm not sure about _enough_. Thanks for having Scarlet again though."

"It's fine. Do you want food yet?"

"God no."

"You have to eat something, John."

"Coming from you? Really?"

"I'm different. I'll run you a bath for now."

"Do I stink?"

"A bit."

oOo

Later, after Scarlet's bedtime, they were sat next to each other on the sofa, pretending to watch TV. John was staring in a somewhat vacant fashion, while Sherlock was glaring at the screen as if it had done something to offend him. He was holding John's hand quite firmly. John got the impression that it wasn't so much for intimacy, but because he was afraid John might run away somewhere if he let go.

"Sherlock, are you OK? You seem out of sorts."

"What? No. Sorry, just thinking about things."

"Are you going to tell me what?"

"Mycroft."

"You're _still_ bothered by that?"

"I'm constantly bothered by him. I don't like the way he feels he has to interfere in every aspect of my life. He continually destroys the things I love."

"Such as?"

"Stuff. Everything. He scares people away from me. The ones he doesn't bribe to feign friendship that is."

"Well, he's not going to scare me away, so don't worry."

"What did he talk to you about?"

"The drugs."

Sherlock glanced him, but he didn't say anything.

"It's fine. I told him I knew and I didn't care. It's fine, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked away.

"Sherlock, are you using drugs at the moment?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I know as much as I need to know, and it's fine. It's behind you. There's stuff in my past that I'm not particularly proud of."

"Such as?"

"Well, OK, when I was in Afghanistan I spent, and in fact _lost_, a small fortune at the dog races."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why did you think I didn't have any savings when I came home, despite having no family to send my wage to, and having been in catered and free accommodation for five years?"

"Oh. Well I didn't give it much thought. And it's not like you did yourself or anyone else any harm, is it?"

"Really? Do you know how quickly someone can get into a gambling debt? In a foreign country where most of the people are armed, it wasn't the most sensible period of my life."

"No. I had no idea." They were silent for a while. "Why did you do it?"

"I was bored."

"You were _bored?_ You were in a war-zone being shot at!"

"No, not always. Mostly I was in surgery, trying to put other people who were being shot at back together again. The contrast between the times when I was doing that, and the times when I was just waiting to do that, well, occasionally I needed a distraction. And the distraction became something of a way of life for a while."

"Hmm. Perhaps you and I are more similar than I thought."

"Well let's not go that far."

Sherlock smiled. "John, may I kiss you, please?"

"Yes. And for future reference, you don't have to ask each time. You could just, well, leap in."

Sherlock smiled and leaned in to kiss John. John accepted and responded in his shy, tentative way. After a moment, he pushed Sherlock away.

"Sherlock, do you think I'm gay?"

"Well, I'm hoping for at least bisexual."

"But do you worry I'm not?"

"No. Sorry, but I don't. At the moment I'm just pleased you let me kiss you. I'm hoping that before long, you'll get over the 'but he's a man' thoughts, and just be content that you're kissing me too."

"OK. Well, let's work on that shall we?"

Sherlock smiled and leaned back into John, turning his hips to face John on the sofa as he did so. He didn't aim for John's mouth this time, but held his head still while he kissed his forehead. He then tilted John's head back so he could reach him properly and gently and softly kissed his lips. He eased his tongue into John's mouth, not far and not fast, but as he'd anticipated, John shrank from him slightly. He kept a gentle hold on John's head, not restraining him, just steadying him, and he withdrew slightly.

He gently kissed John's lower lip for a while.

He felt John relax a little, and he felt his hands come to rest, very gently, on his hips. He licked John's lip slightly and the grip on his hips tightened slightly. He would have smiled, but he had other things to do with his mouth. He licked the inside of John's top lip and this time John didn't startle and pull away. Sherlock felt John grab handfuls of his shirt.

He let go of John's head and moved away, ever so slightly and as he'd anticipated John shifted slightly so he was more comfortable, and leaned to press his lips against Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock smiled slightly, then kissed John again. He flicked John's tongue with his own. John leaned in for more and started pulling Sherlock's shirt from his trousers. After a few seconds he seemed to remember himself and stop.

Sherlock sat back and looked at John, who seemed slightly dazed and slightly confused. Sherlock considered checking he was OK, or perhaps backing off to let John centre himself. Then he decided he didn't want to do either of those things, and he leaned back in, snaking his hands around John's waist, and holding still while he kissed him deeply. He wasn't sure entirely when he'd stopped monitoring John's reactions to each move he made, but it was probably about then.

Sherlock's hands crept up inside John's t-shirt, and he scratched him down his back simply because he loved it when John shuddered. This time John not only shuddered but he shoved his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock seized the opportunity to suck it. His hands stroked round to John's front and up over his chest to his collar bones. John's t-shirt rolled up over his arms. Sherlock shuffled forwards and John was pushed back against the arm of the chair.

Sherlock pulled back slightly, wondering again if he should release John and let him relax for a while, but instead he found himself kissing over John's sternum and then up, over his chest, feeling John's chest hair on his nose and cheeks. He kissed along John's collar bones and to his throat before he realised that the t-shirt bunched around John's neck was probably quite uncomfortable. He briefly considered removing it entirely, before he reminded himself with at sense of disappointment that this would be too much too fast.

He sat back again, and as he did so, he registered that John's had untucked his shirt at some point, and his hands were pressed against the small of Sherlock's back. He was reluctant to move away from their warmth, but he did so anyway. He turned back round to face the television, so that John didn't feel overwhelmed or that else was expected. He didn't move back along the sofa though, and his thigh was comfortably pressed against John's.

They sat there for a moment or two and John slowly traced his thumb over his lips, deep in thought.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "What were we talking about?"

"I honestly can't remember."

oOo

_This next part is a week or so after Toys._

John strolled happily through Regent's Park, pushing Scarlet in her pushchair. Sherlock was on a case and John planned to drop off a chocolate cake for him at Baker Street as this one had dragged far longer than either of them was entirely happy about. While John knew Sherlock would be disappointed that it was cake, rather than John himself, he reminded himself that they'd agreed that Sherlock would be alone at Baker Street as long as he was working no matter how hard either of them found this. He idly wondered how many cases Sherlock had rejected in the past few weeks simply because he didn't want to be parted from John. He tried not to hope that it was a high number but failed miserably.

A familiar voice distracted him from his thoughts.

"Good afternoon, John. You look well."

"Thank you, Mycroft. How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, John."

"Did you just happen to be in Regent's Park at about this time?"

"No. I expected to find you here."

John smiled but didn't answer. He was feeling calm and benevolent and didn't much feel like getting into an argument with Mycroft.

"I saw Sherlock the other day," Mycroft said.

"Really? Did he see you, or was this more along the surveillance lines of seeing him?"

"Aha, John. I'm sure he was aware of my presence. He had quite a spring in his step."

"Well, he's working at the moment. You know how that energises him."

"I do. I don't believe this is the cause at the moment though. I suspect you don't either. Will you have a coffee with me?"

They stopped outside a small café in the park and John hesitated for a moment. In some ways, meeting with Mycroft felt like consorting with the enemy. On the other hand, he and Mycroft didn't have an argument themselves.

"Yes, fine thank you. Scarlet could probably do with something to eat anyhow."

"Want cake!" Scarlet called.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. Come on then." He wheeled her to a table outside and got released her harness. She ran in to select a huge chocolate muffin, which John agreed to with a sigh, and they sat down at the table with coffee.

"John, I believe I owe you an apology," Mycroft said.

"Really?"

"Yes. I misjudged you. I apologise."

"Well, to be fair you could just have easily been right. It's been a confusing couple of months for all of us. But I think we're getting there now."

"Yes, I believe you are. All the same, I would like to offer you an explanation."

"There's no need to explain. He's your little brother and you wanted to protect him from a situation that could quite easily go very wrong. It's fine."

"Yes. Thank you." Mycroft sipped at his coffee for a moment and stared at a tree.

John watched him while helping Scarlet with her cake. "Mycroft, is there something you'd like to tell me about Sherlock's drug use?"

Mycroft looked at him. "I'm not sure. Wouldn't it be a little like talking behind his back?"

"That didn't seem to bother you back in December. When we first met, you were going to give me money for doing just that. In fact, if giving me money now eases your conscience..."

"No." He looked hesitant. John was concerned – it was not usual for Mycroft to look hesitant.

"Mycroft, Sherlock's told me about the drugs from his point of view. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what your experience of that time was."

"Yes. John, you know that for some time he was an addict."

"Yes."

"At the time, I don't think he thought he was. He thought he had the situation under control."

"He told me he had a fight with Lestrade when he told him to come off them."

"Yes. He did. I was called to pick him up from police cells which is where he'd been put when he got out of control. I sometimes think it was astonishingly kind of Inspector Lestrade not to press charges against him."

"He actually fought him? With fists?"

"Yes. It wasn't simply an argument, though I do imagine there were raised voices too. He refused to go to a rehabilitation centre, but the officer in charge was happy to release him to my care. Sherlock was annoyed when I didn't simply take him back to the house he'd been living in, but instead took him to my own flat. He had a few choice things to say to me too. I told him I'd release him when he could go an entire month without any illegal drug use."

"So he stayed with you for the entire month?"

"No, two months. The first month he was unable to give up."

"Wait a second, you gave him access to drugs while he was with you?"

"Of course. I felt it needed to be his choice."

"Well that's... that's a novel approach to the problem."

"Daddy!" Scarlet interrupted. "Can I play?"

"Yes, as long as you don't leave this bit of grass here. And let me clean you up a bit." He spent some time wiping her down, wondering why he was feeling quite so angry with Mycroft. Eventually he was satisfied and he released her.

"John, have I upset you? I was under the impression that Sherlock had explained all of this to you."

For a moment, John felt uncomfortable, and as though he'd somehow tricked Mycroft into telling him this. Sherlock had told him about the drugs, and admitted that it was an addiction. He'd mentioned Mycroft had been involved with his recovery, but it had seemed as though he found him a decent rehab centre, not that he'd had him in his house, doing it all himself. Somehow the fury that Sherlock felt towards Mycroft was a little more understandable. Sherlock wasn't the sort to take that sort of act as a kindness and with thanks. He'd have felt as if he was weaker than Mycroft and as though Mycroft had a favour he could call in at any time, and that would have infuriated him. Not least because it was clear to him now that Mycroft had been _right._

"Well, he got off the drugs anyhow," he said to Mycroft. "And he's been clean since. Hasn't he?"

"The addiction certainly never returned. He was volatile for a while afterwards. He certainly worked his way through a variety of flatmates, but I know he didn't take drugs during that time."

"How do you know?"

"Because I had his word, and I trust his word. In addition, he came to me some weeks after he'd left my flat with a box full of equipment. He asked if I could keep it for him. I believe he wanted it out of temptation's reach."

"But he didn't just destroy it."

"No. This is Sherlock, John. He never does anything in the most simple way."

John thought about this for a moment. It would have taken an enormous amount of will for Sherlock to give that box to Mycroft. To have done so would to be to admit he needed his brother's help. There was no question that he'd try to replace everything with a new supply, because as Mycroft said, Sherlock didn't take the easy route out of anything. If he gave it to Mycroft, there would have been a reason. He'd have known that if he wanted to use again, he'd have to go and grovel at Mycroft's door, which would have been the biggest incentive to not use drugs ever again.

At that thought, he startled. "Mycroft, has Sherlock ever come to you since then? Has he asked to..." he left the thought unsaid.

"Yes he has."

John felt stung. Sherlock had assured him he didn't take drugs any more. He never qualified that statement with the words 'except from...'

"John, if it helps you at all, I don't think he intends to use the drugs again. He told me as much."

"Yes, but he's told you that before now and has done so."

"No, he never told me he'd stop before the last time. The last occasion he came to me, he told me I could destroy it all and that he wouldn't be using them again. He told me they didn't work any more. I believed him. He left my house that day in exactly the same amount of pain as he'd entered it."

"How often did he... sorry, I don't want ask you anything you're uncomfortable with."

"Twice. There were only two occasions since he left my flat after his detoxification period."

John nodded slowly.

"John, I'm telling you this because I need you to understand why I'm so concerned for him. He's frustrating and rude and annoying, but he's my only family. I feel obligated to keep an eye on his because... well, you don't need to know why. After Sherlock left my flat he moved in with, and annoyed, several flatmates. There were three in the space of four months. Then, suddenly, who should turn up but Doctor John Watson, someone who wouldn't give an inch of license to him. Well, not _undeserved_ license to him anyhow. He changed when he moved in with you. He changed quite monumentally and quite suddenly.

"John, the first time Sherlock came to see me was following the explosion at the swimming pool in which you were so badly hurt. At first I thought it was simply because he'd been beaten. It took me an embarrassing amount of time for me to realise that there was something deeper going on. The next time, and last time, that he's ever come to me, I was expecting him."

"When was that?"

"It was the day you married Mary."

John inhaled sharply. He looked over the grass to where Scarlet was jumping in a convenient puddle. He had known that Sherlock hadn't wanted him to marry Mary, but he had assumed at the time that it was simply selfishness, that he felt he was losing a convenient person who would tag along with him on cases and utter praise in his direction when he needed it. After Sherlock's confession of his feelings for John, he had still only thought that perhaps jealousy could be added to that. He hadn't for a moment thought that Sherlock had been so upset that he didn't think he could cope without him at all. He'd smiled at their wedding. He'd been a good best man. The cost to him must have been extraordinary.

Sherlock had said that he had 'fallen for' John. He'd told him he'd been attracted for a while. He'd expressed an interest. This was beyond all of that. This was love. Sherlock might not have been able to recognise it, but John knew love when he saw it. And he knew the kind of pain a person feels when the object of that love is removed.

"John?"

"Mm? Yes? Sorry. Thank you for telling me, Mycroft."

"I believe you understand now, why I wasn't happy with the idea that you were simply stringing Sherlock along."

"No. Of course."

"I was, for a while, concerned that this might go very badly very quickly. I'm happy to see that you've moved beyond that now."

"Yes. Well, who knows what might happen to either one of us, but yes, I think we're both determined to try our best."

"Not even I could ask more than that, John. Though of course, if you do anything to hurt him, I will duff you up. Well, being me, I'd probably pay someone else to do it for me."

"Understood."

"Now, I would advise you to turn around and take that chocolate cake back to your own flat. I believe Sherlock is nearly there now. He'll be home with you this evening."

"Thanks. Mycroft."

"Good afternoon, John." Something caught his attention, and he frowned for a moment. "I'm afraid your daughter has covered herself with an enormous amount of dirt."

"Yes, she does that. Don't worry about it. Turns out, children are fairly wipe clean. You should come around for dinner sometime."

"Really? I don't think Sherlock would like that at all. Let's say a week Tuesday, shall we?"

"That's fine, Mycroft. See you then."

John went to retrieve his daughter to take her home. As he walked, he thought about Sherlock and what to cook for him this evening, and the various other things he might do to help him relax after a case. He found himself hoping that he would be good enough a partner for Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Right, next up, possibly Harry.**

**Thank you all again for the lovely reviews. I think that the reviews are doing more for my recovery than the sodding antibiotics are!**

**Pip xxx  
**


	44. Stickers

**A fun little sketch, so short in might nearly be classed as a drabble. Plagiarised from life.**

* * *

_This is between 'Engaged' and 'Wedding day.' I'm kind of hoping that Scarlet is still three. In my head she is._

Scarlet wailed. She wailed and sobbed. She looked so tiny and sad in her bed.

Sherlock stuck to his guns. "No, you can't have another sticker. You get a sticker every time you use the toilet and you didn't this evening."

"But I diiiiiiiiid!" She wailed. "I did do it!"

"No, you used it this morning, for which you got a sticker." Sherlock wondered quite how his life had twisted and turned to a place where he'd even be having this conversation.

"I haven't gotted a sticker!" Scarlet sobbed at him.

"But Daddy said he gave you one this morning! You showed it to me! It was a pink bear!"

"No but it's gone! I need nuvver one!"

"And you'll get another one next time you use the toilet. OK, calm down now and go to sleep."

She continued to sob and wail. There were real tears. Sherlock's heart broke a little bit but he stayed firm.

"Do you want another story?"

"No! Wanna sticker!"

"Oh Scarlet, I'm so sorry but you can't have another one!"

He pulled her against him and cuddled her for a bit. She accepted the cuddle, but she didn't stop crying. He kissed her and put her back in the bed with a sigh. He wondered if there was any way he could convince John that she had mysteriously used the toilet in the time he'd been upstairs with her.

He left her still sobbing, and he went downstairs.

"What's all that about?" John asked him. He looked on edge.

"She wants another sticker."

"Did she use the toilet again?"

Sherlock hesitated then sighed. "No."

"Then she can't have another one."

"I know! I told her that."

They listened for a while to the sobs coming from upstairs. She was crying so hard she kept gasping to catch her breath.

"I think I'll just pop up and see her," John said.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"No, I know! I just... it's just she's crying."

Sherlock gave him a look, but John headed upstairs anyway. Sherlock listened as John talked softly to her and eventually Scarlet seemed to calm down. John ran back down the steps at him. He smiled and nodded at Sherlock, then disappeared into the kitchen.

He headed out of the kitchen door and walked straight into Sherlock, who was waiting for him outside.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"No, what are you doing? What have you got in your hand?"

"Nothing. It's just..."

"You're giving her another sticker, aren't you!"

"No! Well, not really. It's the same one. Sort of."

"_John!_"

"Look, she lost her other one."

"I know! But you told me I couldn't give her another and that she has to use the toilet again! One go, one sticker! That's what you said!"

"But she lost it!"

"_I know!_"

"Look, she doesn't understand. All she knows is that she used the toilet once, and she should therefore have one sticker, and she doesn't."

"But she lost it!"

"And all I told her was I'd look for it. I'd go and find her sticker again."

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"On the sheet with all the other stickers." John had the grace to look guilty.

"_John!_"

"I know! But God damn it, Sherlock, I just hate it when she cries when it's something she really doesn't understand."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Fine. Give it here then."

"What?"

"I'm not going to be the mean parent who makes her cry while you're the nice parent who gives in to her!"

"I didn't give in! I just re-found the sticker!"

Sherlock gave him a look, and John reluctantly handed it over and Sherlock charged back upstairs with a grin on his face, ready to appease the child.

* * *

**I'm feeling much better, but my thoughts are all whirly about other chapters. At the moment I'm re-writing 'Drunk' from Fun, but might not publish it. I'd prefer to use it to sort out my thoughts on the Harry chapter, which I haven't started yet.**

**Pip xxx**


	45. Drunk

**I had such a good time re-imagining 'Drugs', that I thought I'd redo this one too, with our new, slightly sassier Scarlet, and not one, but two angry fathers. Like I say, I wasn't sure about publishing it, as it wasn't my intention to when I started writing it, but I think it's actually come out OK. Also, I finally wrote the PowerPoint presentation that was requested so often in Just For Fun.**

**And credit to Katkin, whose story 'Tipsy' put this in my mind the first time around.**

* * *

_Scarlet is 16_

"OK, I'm off out now! Don't wait up!" Scarlet called into the lounge.

As she turned to leave, Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen door and stopped her in her tracks.

"What does that mean? Don't wait up?"

"It means I might be out a bit late. You shouldn't... worry."

"How late?"

"I don't know. Late. I was thinking I might go back to... to Karen's house."

"By Karen's do you in fact mean Ben's?"

Scarlet sighed. "Not this again."

"Scarlet, he's only interested in sex."

"Maybe he likes me?"

"No. He's a sixteen year old boy, he's _only_ interested in sex."

"Sherlock, leave her alone!" John called from the sitting room.

"No! Did you agree to her being out late?"

"God!" John got up from where he was lazing on the sofa and walked over to them. "Look, Sherlock, it's the last day of exams. They all want to go out, they all want to blow off some steam. You've seen how hard she's been working, don't you think she should have the opportunity to relax a bit now?"

"_Thank you,_ Dad."

"Fine, that's all fine," Sherlock responded, "but relaxing a bit shouldn't involve staying out for an indefinite amount of time or having sex with Ben."

"I'm not going to have sex with Ben!"

"There you are." John said.

"Tonight," she added, quietly.

"For God's sake, Scarlet," John said, "can't you just let things lie?"

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Go out, blow off some steam, enjoy yourself, but could you at least commit to being back here by, I don't know, one?"

"That's a bit late," John told him. "She's only sixteen."

"One's fine," Scarlet said, turning to leave.

John grabbed her arm. "Midnight. Be back here by midnight. Now go and have a nice time."

She sighed and pulled away. John watched her skip down the stairs and Sherlock went to the window to watch her leave the house. She headed off towards the tube station.

"Why does she have to grow up so fast?" he grumbled to John.

John lay back down on the sofa. "Not that fast, Sherlock. Sometimes I think we got off fairly lightly with that."

"No. It's too soon. I hate it."

"Should we have another one?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I just... I miss the way she was."

"Maybe you should start enjoying the way she is now."

"She's complicated now. Her head's all busy with needs and wants and trying to work out what she wants to do and how she's going to do it. And she doesn't want to take advice on any of it."

"That's sort of the point, she wants to work it out by herself. But sometimes we might have to give her a little space and let her make her own mistakes."

"No, remember that judge? The one who told us we needed to guide her, because otherwise she'll make mistakes?"

"Yeah, that was when she was twelve and she was making big mistakes. There's a difference between that and letting her grow up like every other teenager gets to."

"I don't like it."

"Well, at least she hasn't gone completely off the rails and done anything really silly. Like break all the windows with a snooker cue or something."

"It was a billiards cue."

"Oh, that makes it OK then. What were you angry about anyhow?"

"I honestly don't remember."

"She'll be fine, Sherlock. Let's hope we've taught her enough and set a good enough example for her to be sensible."

"Fine." He looked out of the window again at the people passing by, idly deducing their occupations and family status. He gazed at a little girl of about seven jumping on each paving slab so her feet didn't touch the cracks. He frowned and looked at John. "Just out of interest, which one of us do you think might have done that?"

oOo

At 00:13 John stumbled down the stairs to the front room.

"Are you ever coming to bed?" he asked Sherlock.

"No. I'm working. You go up."

"You're not working, you're playing Patience."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I can see your screen reflected in the window."

"It's FreeCell."

"Which is a form of Patience."

"It's a form of Solitaire."

"Are you coming to bed or not?"

"In a bit."

"You're waiting for her to come in, aren't you? You know she'll hate your for it."

"She's late. It wouldn't be a problem if she wasn't late."

"She'll be back at one. That's how it works. We say twelve and she'll automatically add an hour onto that."

"And you let her get away with that?"

John rolled his eyes. "Well, it's never been much of a problem because this is the first time she's ever gone out at night."

"Well it's a problem now, don't you think? Perhaps if you'd have done anything to discipline her for the times when she was late but it didn't matter, she wouldn't be out in London at past midnight."

"Well, has she ever been late for a time you've set?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "I refuse to answer that question."

"So when that happened, what did you do to discipline her?"

"I refuse to answer that question too."

"Well then kindly stop insinuating that I let her get away with stuff. You've always spoiled her far more than I have, and she knew that when she was five, so don't shove all of this onto me. Now are you coming to bed?"

"In a bit. I'll wait until I hear the door, then I'll run up."

"That sounds sensible, Sherlock. That plan's not flawed in any way."

Sherlock tutted. "You've made me lose my game now."

John sighed and turned to go back upstairs.

Half an hour later he was joined by Sherlock.

"She's home then?" John asked, sleepily.

"I just heard the door go. She hasn't made it upstairs yet though." He stood by the door, out of sight, but listening for Scarlet to walk up. He frowned. "She's taking her time." Then after a moment. "She's not alone. Come on."

He set off back downstairs and John decided it would be best to follow him.

They found Scarlet in the kitchen with a girl they hadn't seen before.

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked her.

"Sock, Shock, this is, um... this is... ummmm." Scarlet sat down suddenly on a kitchen chair. She almost missed it.

The stranger giggled and Scarlet joined in.

"Hell girl, you're totally trashed," the stranger said. Scarlet giggled.

"What's your name and where do you live?" Sherlock snapped.

"Um, I'm Nikki. And I live in, you know, Camden."

"I said she could shhhh, sssss, shleep in, um, that place. Downstairs."

"Well she can't, I'll arrange a car to take her home."

"Look, Scarlet's Dad, I just wanted to check she got home. I don't have cab fare."

"I'll pay. You're going home. Give me your address."

"Daaaad!"

"No, she's going home, you're going to bed, and you're never going to be allowed out again, ever."

"That's a shhhhhh, a long time."

"Tough. Nikki, your address."

Nikki told him sheepishly. Sherlock called a car service and went to sulk in the front room while he was waiting for them to arrive. John put the kettle on. Scarlet and Nikki spluttered and giggled some more.

"Drink that, Scarlet," John told her, putting a glass in front of her.

"What ish it?"

"It's water."

"I don't want water."

"Drink it anyway."

Scarlet leaned to see if she could drink the water without picking it up. She knocked the glass slightly and it sloshed over her and she and Nikki fell about laughing again.

"Cab's here," Sherlock said, coming back through to them. "You come with me."

Nikki got up and with a look at Scarlet went with him. He caught her arm to steady her down the steps as she tottered on ridiculously high heels. By the time he got back upstairs, the kitchen was empty, and he could hear John in Scarlet's bedroom entreating her to put her pyjamas on.

"You don't... don't need to fush. Suff. Fuss," she told him.

"Just get changed."

She picked up her pyjamas, but just flopped down on her bed with them.

"It wash... It was fun."

"It was utterly stupid," Sherlock said, coming into the room and standing over her.

She scooted backwards to sit up a bit. "Leave me alone."

"No, Scarlet, I can't believe how stupid you have been tonight! Not only did you stay out far longer than we said, but you got drunk! You know can't drink on your pills!"

"Fucking pills," Scarlet said darkly.

Sherlock sat down on the bed with her. "Look, I know you don't like the meds but you _need_ them! You know you need them and you know you shouldn't drink on them! Certainly not to excess!"

"Sherlock, just leave it tonight," John told him.

"No, John, I'm _really_ angry! And more than a little disappointed. How did you even get the drinks? Who served you? I want their names and the names of any pub or club that served you drinks."

"Can't remember. Some were... some... Someone gave me... little things. Shlock. Shlots. Shots."

"Who did?"

"Some girl in some bar," Scarlet said sleepily. "They were on her, um, her... thing. Her belt. I lost my... thing. Small. Er. Oyshster card. Sorry."

"How did you get home?" John asked her.

"Um. Dunno. Nikki and me... I think we got a car." She yawned.

"A proper cab? One with a badge number?" Sherlock asked.

"No, don't think so. It didn't have one of those things. Lights. On top. It was warm though." She shut her eyes.

"Scarlet!" Sherlock yelled, nudging her awake again. "You have to know how completely and utterly _stupid_ that was! An unlicensed cab? Are you completely insane?"

"Sherlock, you might want to get out of her face a bit," John told him.

Sherlock looked at him. "You're on her side? You don't think she needs to hear how imbecilic she's just been."

"Yes of course, but she's about to puke."

Sherlock turned to look at her just in time to be squarely hit by acidic, orange vomit. He leapt backwards of the bed.

"Fucking hell!" he yelled.

Scarlet looked surprised, her eyes wide as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Sorry," John said, "I though you knew the signs. When her lips go pale like that she always throws up." Sherlock stared at him and dripped. "What?" John said. "It's not like you haven't seen her throw up before. I thought you knew! See, they're going pale again."

Sherlock looked back at her and sure enough her lips were going pale and quivering. He reacted just quickly enough to get her waste-paper bin to her. He turned to John, looking utterly bewildered and shook his head.

"Sherlock, why don't you go and shower and change. I'll sort this out."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He just nodded sadly and left the room.

After he'd showered he stood on the landing listening to Scarlet cry.

"Sherlock's... is he really cross with me?"

"What do you think?" John asked her.

"I, I, I think he hates me!"

"Well that's just silly. He doesn't hate you, he just thinks you did a really stupid thing. And you know what? So do I, Scarlet, it was a really silly thing to do!"

Sherlock heard her retch again and he used the distraction to dash past to his own room.

John joined him not long afterwards.

"Well, that was fun," he said, falling onto the bed, next to Sherlock.

"I guess we haven't taught her enough or set a good enough example after all," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh give it a rest, Sherlock. She's sixteen. She got drunk. She's unlikely to do it again any time soon, we can discuss it and set some punishment in the morning but for now let's go to sleep."

"I just can't believe she was that drunk!"

"She wasn't that bad. I've seen worse."

"I haven't. I think it was a ridiculous level of inebriation. And to get into an unlicensed cab!"

"Really? Don't you recall times when you've had that level of inebriation? And you once got in a cab with a man you knew for sure was a murderer."

"I've never drunk to the extent that it makes me sick, John!"

John guffawed. "Oh no? Don't you remember our wedding night at all?"

"That was different."

"How?"

"It was Mycroft's fault. Besides, I wasn't under-age."

"I don't think it was the first time that particular scenario happened, and I know for sure it wasn't the last."

"I told you, my drinks had been spiked, or they'd gone off or something."

"What, every time? And you've told me that you were younger than her age playing truant and smoking weed. Would you prefer that?"

Sherlock sulked in the dark. After a few minute he spoke quietly again.

"I need her to be better than me. She has to be."

John found Sherlock's hand and he squeezed it gently.

"She'll be fine, Sherlock. Don't worry. She's already much, much better than you.

Sherlock grinned and turned to John for a kiss.

oOo

At eight o'clock the next morning, Sherlock knocked on Scarlet's door. He didn't wait for an answer but walked in.

"Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine! Come on, Scarlet, we've got a lot on today!" He put the tray he was carrying down on her desk and drew back the curtains. Scarlet, flinched and stirred.

"I made you some breakfast!" Sherlock told her. "Toast, fried eggs, a couple of sausages..."

Scarlet swore through gritted teeth and she turned towards the wall.

"Up you get, Scarlet! You need to be fed, showered and downstairs in half an hour. If you're not, I _will_ come up here with a glass of cold water and I'll pour it all over you."

He smiled at her cringing form and went happily downstairs again.

Half an hour later, he knocked and went into her room again. He pulled back her duvet slightly, and slowly poured cold water from a glass over her. She shrieked and sat up.

"Fuck! Sherlock! What the fuck are you doing!"

"Watch your language there, Scarlet."

"You just poured water on me!"

"Yeah, and you threw up on me last night, so don't get all indignant at me now. And I gave you warning and you didn't warn me."

"No! I used the bin! You can check."

"No thank you, I know you used the bin. You used me and my t-shirt too. Now get up, you've got work to do. You can start by cleaning out your bin."

He left again.

"Downstairs in twenty minutes, Scarlet!" he called back to her.

It was actually twenty-five minutes later that Scarlet got out of the shower and staggered downstairs and collapsed on an armchair. She slumped forwards to put her head in her hands, he wet hair hanging down in front of her face.

"I think I'm getting a migraine," she muttered.

"No," John told her. "That feeling you have now, Scarlet, that's a hangover. Did you eat your breakfast?"

"No."

"Then eat something and have a cup of tea, and then you'll feel well enough to clean the kitchen."

"What?"

"The kitchen; it needs cleaning. Properly cleaning, empty the fridge, clean it out on the inside, the tiles, the insides of the draws and the cupboards, and the oven."

"Are you joking?"

"No."

Scarlet glanced over at Sherlock who was pointedly reading the newspaper.

"No, don't look at him, Scarlet. This is the punishment I've set for you. Sherlock will explain his to you later."

"Two punishments?"

"Yes."

"Isn't the hangover enough?"

"No. The hangover's the punishment you gave yourself by drinking too much. The kitchen's the punishment for coming home later than we'd said and with a complete stranger. Sherlock's going to deal with the issue of the unlicensed cab with you later."

"That's unfair."

"No it's not."

"But it's my first day of holiday!"

"Yep. But yesterday you chose to go out and behave like an adult..."

"A _stupid_ adult," Sherlock put in.

"... so now you have to act like an adult and get up and go to work feeling like crap."

She stared at him for a moment, then grimaced and covered her mouth again.

"If you're going to vomit, go to the bathroom and don't make a mess. Then come downstairs and start cleaning the kitchen."

She took a deep breath and sat still for a moment while John watched her. Eventually she glared at him and padded through to the kitchen. She started running a sink full of hot, soapy water.

John and Sherlock caught each other's eyes and they both tried not to smile.

They listened as she clumsily started washing the dishes, the chink of the crockery interspersed by quiet curses. She dried the dishes and put them away, then started on the fridge. They listened as she started dumping the contents onto the kitchen table.

"Throw away anything that's out of date, Scarlet!" Sherlock called to her. "And I'd love a cup of tea, please."

Another mumbled curse and the sound of the kettle being filled. Then back to the fridge. She seemed to be working more calmly now and a number of items were thrown away.

"Sherlock, all these... _things_. They don't have dates on them. Should I keep them or bin them?"

"What's there?"

"Er... this one looks like... toes."

"They can be kept."

"And these... I don't know what this is."

"What colour?"

"I don't want to look."

"Well you'll have to."

"Um, dark purple."

"Liver. Bin it."

"What about this brain?"

"I think that one's OK. Smell it and check."

"I'm not smelling it."

"Hang on." He went into her and took it from her. He unscrewed the top of the jar and sniffed it deeply, then pulled a face. "No, this one's turned a bit. Oh yes, you can see the mould growing!" he shoved it close to her face to show her.

Scarlet's lips went pale again and she darted from the room.

John walked up to him. "You planted that stuff in there, didn't you!"

"No, I'd never do such a thing!"

"Cruel, Sherlock." He went to finish making the tea. Sherlock dropped the jar full of brain into the kitchen bin. "Wait," John said, "what species was that?"

"Sheep."

"Oh. OK then."

"John, you really do have a stupid amount of sentimentality about human body parts."

"I'm a _doctor_, Sherlock."

Scarlet came slowly back downstairs, and walked up to Sherlock. She looked utterly miserable.

"I'm really sorry I was sick on you last night," she said to him quietly.

"Thank you."

"Please can I go back to bed? I feel awful."

"It's a hangover, that's all. You need to finish the kitchen."

She started to cry and Sherlock's arms went around her automatically.

"Scarlet," John said, "Have a break for a cup of tea first, and eat some toast, and then you can go back to cleaning."

"I'm never eating again."

"The food wasn't the problem, Scarlet. It was the drink that's caused all this."

"I know, and I'm sorry, _please_ can I just go to bed?"

"No, Scarlet."

She dried her eyes and sat down at the kitchen table to sip at her tea. They sat down with her.

"Was it a nice night?" John asked her.

"What?"

"Did you have a nice time? Did you enjoy your end of exams celebration?"

"Um, yes."

"Good."

"Mostly anyhow. At first it was fun. Then it got a bit odd."

"That happens sometimes," Sherlock said. "Odd in what way?"

"Well, it was fine, but we went on to this one place, the place with the shots, and this old dude got really creepy with us."

"Who was there?" John asked.

"Me, Nikki, Michelle and Denise."

"Creepy how, exactly?" Sherlock asked.

"He kept trying to grab our bums. He asked for our phone numbers."

John and Sherlock frowned at each other.

"Did you give him your number."

"I can't remember mine."

"What?"

She shrugged. "I never call myself. Denise might have given hers though."

"Why didn't you say something to someone?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought it was funny. We were laughing."

"_Funny?_"

"Yeah. Well, not now, but at the time."

"Oh God. Teen _idiot_ in 'alcohol impairs your judgement' shocker." Sherlock snapped.

"Go and find Michelle and Denise's numbers," John told her. "I want to call their parents and make sure they got home OK. Then get back to work."

Scarlet looked ashamed as she stood up to go and find the numbers. When she came back downstairs she handed a post-it note over to John without a word. Sherlock's phone rang and he went to answer it.

"Mycroft... I see... I understand. Thank you... Yes, we'll be there at two. Goodbye."

Scarlet looked at him as if she'd like to ask what was going on, but she settled for going back to clean the fridge.

oOo

Scarlet dutifully cleaned the kitchen, and felt well enough to sit and eat some lunch with Sherlock and John but she was subdued. John had called around and was satisfied that everyone in question had arrived home and he and Sherlock chatted happily about their plans for the next few weeks. Scarlet washed up without being asked and disappeared up to her room. At about one-thirty, Sherlock knocked and came into her room.

"Right, we're going out. Are you ready?"

"Where are we going?"

"Mycroft's house."

"You do know that seeing Mycroft isn't a punishment for me, don't you? It's a punishment for you."

"Just get ready and be downstairs in ten minutes please."

"Fine."

She was downstairs suitably dressed and wearing her shoes in the allotted ten minutes.

"Right then, let's go," Sherlock said to her with a smile and she followed him to the street and watched him hail a cab.

"Now Scarlet, you'll note the taxi's badge number on the plate above the license plate there. It should match..." he opened the door and got inside. "Yes, it matches the badge number on the license in the window."

"I know, Dad."

"The license inside has a picture. You need to quickly check that the picture matches the driver."

"_I know_."

"The whole thing takes a matter of seconds. There's no excuse for not doing it."

Scarlet pouted and stared out of the window. Sherlock watched her for a moment.

"How's your head?"

"Better, thanks."

"Good." He smiled at her and squeezed her hand slightly.

They sat in silence for the rest of the journey.

Scarlet never failed to be slightly awed by Mycroft's building. Well built in the Victorian era, with it's high ceilings and original cornicing and oak panelling, the apartment was built to display the owners status and opulence and it was doing the same job for Mycroft. When she'd first seen it, she'd assumed that the furniture was all original, but since then she'd accompanied Mycroft to several auctions where it became clear he had an eye for antiques.

Lestrade opened the door now and he smiled at them.

"Lestrade." Sherlock nodded at him.

"Afternoon Sherlock, just to remind you, I disapprove of this whole thing."

"Well she's not your daughter."

"I know. And I'm not saying it's not a good idea in general, I just question your choice of pictures."

"Noted."

"Well, just so you know."

"I know. But you disapprove less than John would, so that's why we're here."

Scarlet followed them along the hallway.

"Do I have to clean Mycroft's kitchen too?"

"No," Sherlock told her, "he has a cleaner. In here." He led her into Mycroft's formal dining room, where Mycroft was waiting, stood looking at a laptop.

"Good afternoon, Scarlet. Please, have a seat." He pulled forward the chair in front of the computer and she sat down.

Sherlock sat in the seat next to her and clicked on a PowerPoint file called 'Unlicensed Cabs'. Scarlet rolled her eyes.

"Just watch it," Sherlock commanded. He set it to full screen and hit return.

The first slide was simply text on a blue background.

_'In 2010, unlicensed cab drivers were responsible for 120 sexual assaults, including 37 rapes.'_

"I _know_ this, Sherlock. You've told me before."

"It clearly didn't sink in before."

He clicked on the next slide, it was a picture of a youngish looking woman. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying and she had a large bruise on her cheek and a split lip. The text here said 'ML, aged 22, picked up from Covent Garden'.

Scarlet sucked in her lip, but she didn't look away.

Sherlock clicked on the next slide. This one showed another woman with large bruises around her neck. Scarlet didn't need any forensic experience to know she'd been choked. The text said 'LJ aged 20, picked up outside the O bar'. On the picture, she still looked terrified. Scarlet pursed her lips.

Sherlock clicked on the next picture and Scarlet instantly winced. The text read 'EW, 23, picked up in Trafalgar Square." It wasn't a head shot, it instead showed the inner thighs of EW, which had been slashed several times.

"It was a razor blade," Sherlock told her gently. "Are you OK?"

She nodded, but she was pleased when he clicked on the next slide, and relieved that it was another text slide.

_'There were 218 convictions of unlicensed cab drivers for dangerous driving offences in London alone, including 31 convictions of death by dangerous driving.'_

Sherlock clicked on the next slide. It showed a mangled Vauxhall Corsa and when she looked more closely, a mangled bicycle on the pavement next to it.

"The cab driver jumped a light and hit the cyclist square on. The windscreen is shattered because the bike bounced on the bonnet and hit the windscreen. The car then went into the pillar-box. The cyclist was wearing a helmet but his neck was broken, he had extensive internal injuries and died before he got to hospital."

Scarlet chewed on her lip again. She was obviously tense by now but she didn't say anything.

Sherlock moved on and the next slide showed another car, which had come off the road entirely and had embedded itself in the window of a Chinese Take-Away.

"The driver, one of the passengers and two of the customers at the Chinese were all killed, either instantly or later. The second passenger had severe spinal damage and is now a paraplegic." Sherlock looked at her for a while. "Do you want to take a break?"

Scarlet shook her head. "I don't need to see any more. I won't do it again, I promise."

Sherlock stared at his hand for a while. "I believe you. But this is punishment, Scarlet, and I want you to see the rest. Then it will be over. OK?"

She nodded slowly. "I don't want a break then." She wiped her eyes with her hand.

"What happened to all the linen handkerchiefs I keep buying you?" Mycroft asked with a frown.

Scarlet and Sherlock stared at him as if he was mad.

"Mycroft, do you really think this is the time?" Sherlock asked him. Mycroft looked away.

Sherlock clicked on the next slide and Scarlet gasped. This one showed another car, this time looking fairly in tact, but next to it, a man was lying on the floor, surrounded by a large amount of blood, with police looking at him.

"Did he live?" she asked.

"He was twenty-two. The driver agreed to take him home, but he spotted a policeman across the road and set off. The victim was only half way in the car, he started to fall out, and his head was completely crushed by the rear of the same vehicle."

Scarlet looked again at the picture. This time the odd shape of the body registered and she shot back in her chair, covering her mouth and shaking her head. There were more tears, and after a moment she turned and buried her face in Sherlock's chest and sobbed quietly. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair for a while.

"Sherlock, this is enough now," Lestrade told him. "She's seen enough, this is just cruel."

Scarlet pulled away from Sherlock. "No, it's fine. I'm OK. It's my punishment." She wiped her face on her hand again. "Uncle Mycroft, can I use your bathroom please?"

"Of course, you know where it is."

She got up and went quickly from the room.

"Sherlock why are you doing this?" Mycroft asked.

"You know why. You agreed."

"I've changed my mind. She doesn't need it, she's told you as much, and you know she wasn't in any danger last night. I've already told you I'd sent the car."

"That's not the point, Mycroft. And she was in danger, if she was content to get in a strange car that just happened to being driven by someone you knew, she'd be happy to get into any car. She'd have gone anywhere with anyone in the state that she was in. I'm not having that."

"But she's just a kid!" Greg said.

"No, she _was_ a kid. Soon she'll be an adult and I'm not sending her off into the world without teaching her this stuff."

"But she _knows_."

"Then she knows, but doesn't care, and that's worse."

"She was drunk!"

"She shouldn't have been!" Sherlock yelled. "She needs to know she can't drink to that extent! She needs to know that if she does, she's likely to do stupid things and makes bad decisions, and getting into an unlicensed cab is one of those bad decisions."

They went quiet as Scarlet came back into the room. She'd washed her face and looked much calmer.

"OK. Let's see the last slides," she said with a small smile. "I'm ready." She sat back down next to Sherlock.

The next slide showed a picture of a man of about forty. The text just said 'Nathan Steele'.

"Nathan Steele was a case I worked on about a year before I met John. He picked up people, usually women on their own, and he murdered them. He killed five women over the course of seven months."

He clicked on the next slide. It showed a young woman, in a hospital bed, smiling into the camera and holding a newborn baby. "Kate was twenty-six. She'd gone out with her friends as a break when the baby was about twelve weeks old. Her body was found on Victoria Embankment."

He clicked the next slide. It showed a younger women on a night out. She was dressed up and laughing into the camera with a drink in one hand. She looked like she was having a laugh. "Sue was twenty-two and out celebrating her first job. Her body was found in a skip in Wimbledon."

The next slide showed another young woman, with dark hair, next to a man. They were both smiling and holding champagne. "Lucy was on her way home from her hen night. She was due to marry the following month."

The next slide showed a short haired woman, taken having a meal with a number of friends. "Lisa was twenty-give and working as a nurse. Her body was found in Crouch End."

The last slide showed a young girl with blonde hair sat in a garden. "Louise was seventeen. She had gone out to celebrate because she'd just received a University place offer from Cambridge."

"I remember going to talk to her parents," Lestrade told her. "It was... well, it wasn't nice. Well, it's never nice, but sometimes these meetings stay with you, and that one did. She was their only child and it was like every single piece of hope that they had was invested in her, and suddenly it was all gone."

Scarlet looked at him and nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She wiped her face on her hands again. "There's one more slide," she said.

"Go ahead," Sherlock told her and she clicked on return.

The next slide was another one in plain text.

_'I love you. Enjoy your life. Have fun. But please, please start being more careful, because if anything happened to you, I might as well die. SH'._

It tipped Scarlet over the edge and she started sobbing again. Sherlock pulled her to him and she held him tightly. They stayed like that for a few minutes, then she pulled away and wiped her face again.

"For heaven's sake," Mycroft grumbled. "Borrow one of my handkerchiefs!" He held one out to her and she laughed as she took it and wiped her eyes again.

Sherlock closed down the computer. "Right, that's it. Punishment's done. Shall we go home."

"Yes," she said, relieved. "And then bed."

"Thank you, Greg, and you too, Mycroft," Sherlock said and he pulled Scarlet up and they walked hand in hand back to the door.

**OK, so some of the facts and figures are based on ancient numbers and some are completely made up. I looked at some reports of Non-licensed cab crimes, but didn't use any of what I found in it's original form, but made up something similar. Either way; don't use unlicensed cabs. It's a really bad idea and you only save a pitiful amount of money, if that (there are reports of people being held until they paid more). Here ends the Mum-lecture.**

**Pip xxx**


	46. Home Schooling

**Another one inspired by Just For Fun. This incident was only referred to there, so not an actual re-write.**

_Scarlet is nearly four._

Sherlock walked quietly down the stairs and into the front room. He was vaguely aware that John was watching him, and vaguely aware that John was annoyed by him, but chose not to dwell on either of these things. He walked past him and put his violin back into it's case.

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock, it's nine-thirty."

Sherlock glanced at the clock. "Yes, so it is."

"You can't keep her up until nine-thirty! It isn't fair, she's going to be a mess in the morning."

"She's going to nursery in the morning so it doesn't matter." He sat down on next to John on the sofa.

"It _does_ matter."

"Look it's not my fault! She kept asking for another song!"

"You could say no."

Sherlock pouted.

"You can't say no, can you."

"You're just jealous because you're not allowed to sing any more."

John sighed. "Right, have you thought any more about the schools?"

"Yes. None of them are good enough for her."

"Sherlock! Are you going to help with this or not? Because you said you wanted to, but you've been nothing but argumentative about all of it."

"But she's still _three!_"

"Yes! I know! But this is when we have to get her application form in so she can have a place next year. I've explained this lots of times, I've filled in all of the form except the school preferences, and I've reminded you that I don't actually _need_ your input, but you keep telling me you want to be involved. If we want her to attend school next year, we need to make a choice and get the form back to the council by next Wednesday."

Sherlock knew he had a problem with this whole school thing. It wasn't so much the schools themselves, they were all perfectly adequate. It wasn't even Scarlet as she was the sort of child who shone in the company of other children. He was aware that the problem was entirely with him.

At first, he'd thought that it was just because he didn't remember his own school-days fondly. After a couple of days, he dismissed this as he knew that whatever happened to him thirty years ago was utterly irrelevant to what was happening to Scarlet now.

Then, one day when John left for work, taking Scarlet to drop off at nursery, he'd had an epiphany.

His bother about the school was to do with the boredom.

Boredom. He knew the state well. Previously he'd found things to do to alleviate the feeling slightly. Books, the violin, the experiments, cocaine. He'd was still bored while doing all of these things, but they relieved some of the symptoms. The only thing that actually cured the boredom was the work.

Until John. John gave Sherlock a whole wealth of things to think about, to prepare for, to do... He had a whole set of new games to play.

And then added to the John-ness of John was the Scarlet-ness of Scarlet. Scarlet didn't just stave off the boredom, she actually _entertained_ him. Of all the people he knew, Scarlet was the one who was most outside of his experience. He had been a child, of course, but even at the time he knew he was unlike other children. The children he had known then he hadn't understood at all, but over the course of time, he'd worked out some basic behavioural patterns. Unlike those children, Scarlet was unpredictable in the extreme.

He'd developed a game wherein he would watch someone's face and and after a while answer a question they were thinking, but hadn't spoken. The fifth or six time he'd played this trick with John, John had angrily told him it was rude to sneak into people's heads and told him to stop. Of course, he hadn't, and he correctly read John's thoughts every time. With Scarlet, he was lucky if he could get it right one in three times. Once, she'd been watching a cartoon, and he'd been convinced she was about to ask him about the lamb they had seen in the petting zoo at Coram's fields. He was absolutely certain he'd followed her thought processes fully. She'd turned to talk to him and he'd braced himself.

"Sherlock, if God married an angel, would their babies be fairies?"

John had laughed at the shock on his face. The really surprising thing was that he knew that in other circumstances, the error would have annoyed him. With Scarlet, he just felt the thrill of the unknown. He was intrigued and delighted and wanted to play the game again, but suddenly Scarlet would be sidetracked and she'd start colouring or playing with her dolls and every passing thought would be spoken aloud in one long, endless monologue until she was called to food or fell asleep.

He loved her. He was almost certain of it.

John and Scarlet stopped his days feeling so dull. It was glorious.

Unfortunately, they both refused to be with him twenty-four hours a day. John had stubbornly refused to give up his job, and as he was only working part time, it felt churlish to insist he stopped just to stay with Sherlock. Scarlet went to nursery most of the time John was away. Sherlock had suggested he just looked after her during that time, but for some reason John had dismissed this idea.

So for the first time in his life he found he was completely stimulated at home for most of his week, but the contrast he felt when John and Scarlet left the house in these mornings was hideous. They'd leave, he'd spend half an hour walking around, thinking of them and picking up the crayons and toys that had been scattered around the flat, then suddenly the silence would crash in on him. He'd sit on the sofa, almost unable to move, checking his phone regularly for missed calls from Lestrade or hacking in to police reports to search desperately for anything that looked even slightly interesting.

On one occasion, he'd watched the second-hand of the clock for forty-seven minutes before he was interrupted by Mrs Hudson bringing him some tea. The boredom was painful now. It made his whole body itch. He'd give anything to make it go away, and each day he sighed and stamped his way through the day, determined to fall into a complaining heap at John's feet as soon as he got home. Then John would come in and Scarlet would start talking about her day, and John would cook and call through to the others and the boredom would be entirely forgotten.

At the moment, they were away for three days. Twenty-one hours. It was pretty much bearable if he put his mind to it. When Scarlet started school, they would be away five days. Thirty-six and a half hours. It was unfair. He decided to raise his solution to all of this again.

"John, why don't you let me teach her. Here."

"Oh God, Sherlock, are you still going on about that absolutely crackpot idea?"

"It's not _crackpot_. It's sensible. One on one care has to be better than the one to thirty she'd be getting at any of the schools we've seen."

"Maybe, but it does rather depend on the people involved..."

"You don't think I can teach her."

"No, I do think you can teach her, she'll do anything for you, she considers you some sort of god. My concern is more related to _how_ you'd teach her, and more importantly, _what_ you'd teach her."

"I'm quite capable of following the national curriculum."

"I'm sure you are, but what if a case comes up? You can't just dash out the door if you've been called."

"Oh she could come..." he stopped for a moment as he noticed the look on John's face. "She could come _first_ in my priorities, over and above any case that came in."

Sherlock stared at the floor for a moment, not entirely convinced that John had bought that.

"OK, here's what we'll do." John said to him. "You can have a go at home-schooling her. You have to actually structure some education into your day, and if it all goes well, and you think you can continue to do it five days a week, forty weeks of the year, then..." John took a deep breath.

"Then what?"

"Then I'll consider it." Sherlock grinned at him. "_If_ you both survive the day unscathed."

"We will!"

"OK. Tomorrow?"

Sherlock frowned. "That doesn't give me much time to prepare!"

"OK, Thursday."

"No, you'll be home then, you'll distract us."

"Friday then. But that's the latest or we won't have time to get the form in."

"_If _we still consider it necessary to apply to schools, I'll hand deliver the form on Monday."

"Fine."

"Fine."

oOo

Sherlock threw himself into lesson planning with fervour. He was determined to get this absolutely right. When Friday dawned, he bounced from the bed with excitement minutes before the alarm was due to go off.

"It's my first day, John!"

"Grmfff."

"Come on! We need to get Scarlet up and properly fed. Children can't learn properly on an empty stomach!"

"Zzzz."

"Fine, I'll do it all!"

By the time John got downstairs, Sherlock had woken Scarlet and was sat at the kitchen table with her teaching her to read from a cereal box.

"See Scarlet! Sssss, Ssss like a ssssnake!"

"My name has a Sssss!"

"Yes it does!" He looked up at John and beamed.

"Sugarpuffs for breakfast. Interesting choice."

"Yes, what of it?"

"No, it's fine, if you want to pump her full of sugar and additives before trying to teach her, that's completely up to you."

A look of doubt crossed Sherlock's face as he watched her eat. He shook his head. "We'll be fine! You have a good day at work!"

"I'm not going yet!"

"Well, stay out of the way, Scarlet and I have work to do!"

"OK."

"And John,"

"Mm?"

"Just to keep your expectations under control, we'll be working from the 0 to 5 framework."

"Well, yes, that's what she'd be doing at nursery anyway."

"Good. Well, I just don't want you to come home expecting her to be spouting Shakespeare or anything."

"A plague on _both_ your houses!" Scarlet said brightly, waving her spoon at them.

"Yes. Like that. Don't expect that." Sherlock frowned at her. "Where did she get that from anyway?"

"Shakespeare in Love. She wasn't interested in the film but she knows a good insult when she hears one. OK, well you two have fun! If I'm not needed here, I might as well get a head start on that marking."

He kissed them both good goodbye and left the flat.

An hour later and Sherlock was sat on the floor in front of the the coffee table. In front of him there was a laptop, a blow-up globe, a plate full of sugar cubes, some crayons and some sheets of paper.

"Scarlet, come over here a minute, there's something I want to show you!"

"No! I'm playing!"

"I know, you can still play! I want you to play with me though."

"We can play dolls."

"Yes, yes we could. Or we could play my game! My game is called Egyptology!"

This was completely ignored.

"OK, Scarlet, I'm telling you now. You have to come over here for a minute."

She looked at him for a moment, measuring his resolve. He stayed firm though and eventually, with a slight shrug, she sauntered over to him and dropped down on his knee.

"Good. Right, Scarlet, what do you think these things are?" He showed her a picture on the laptop.

She looked at it briefly. "This is boring."

"No, no it's not! You haven't even tried yet."

"Can I eat this shudar?"

"Sugar, and no, leave it,we need it for later. Oh, OK, just that one though. Don't eat any more. No! I said _don't_ eat any more! Anyhow, these are called the pyramids. They're in Egypt."

She gave him a disdainful look and started to get up.

"No, sit down again. Look Scarlet, shall we see where Egypt is on the globe?"

"No."

"But it's fun! Look, here it is here, in the North of Africa!"

Scarlet stared at the globe for a moment, then looked at Sherlock as if he was mad.

"But that's little, and they look big." She popped another sugar-cube into her mouth.

"Oh, yes, well, I can see why that looks odd. What you have to remember, is that this is to scale. The real Earth is a lot bigger than this one."

"How big?"

"I don't know."

She started to get up again.

"No, wait! We haven't finished! Look, here's another picture of the pyramids."

"That's a camel!"

"Well, yes, that's a camel in the picture, but we're looking at the pyramid."

"Is he hot?"

"Who?"

"The camel!"

"Oh, no I don't think so. But look at the pyramid, what do you think it's made of?"

"What's his name?"

"Whose name?"

"The _camel!_"

"I don't know, it's not important. But look at the pyramid. There are over two million bricks in that pyramid!"

"Are there ducks there?"

"Where."

"Where that square hill is."

"It's a pyramid. And I don't know."

"What about cows?"

"Yes, I think there are cows in Egypt. Stop eating the sugar."

"What about dogs?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Bears?"

"I think... I don't know. Yes. Maybe. Should I take the sugar away?"

"Cats?"

"Actually yes! The Egyptians used to worship cats, they really loved them."

"I love cats too!"

"I know. Well, the Egyptians loved them so much that when a cat's master died, the cat was mummified and buried with it's master!"

"They buried the cat?"

"Yes!"

"Underground?"

"Yes! But sometimes inside those big pyramids!" He noticed a slight wobble in her bottom lip. "Don't worry, Scarlet, they'll have killed the cat first! No! No, don't cry! Here, have this sugar-cube."

Half an hour later, Mrs Hudson knocked on the door and stuck her head in.

"Everything OK in here?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine."

"It's just, it's a bit loud downstairs."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, you know children, Mrs Hudson, occasionally they have to run off some energy. This is all perfectly normal. She'd probably be having a break at nursery if she was there."

Scarlet continued to run around the room, jumping onto, over and off various obstacles while Sherlock sat on the floor, leaning against the coffee table. The crayons and paper had been scattered about the room, and the globe had become a football until it wedged itself on a bookshelf. The computer had been rescued and put safely away, and the three remaining sugar-cubes had been moved to the kitchen, somewhat pointlessly.

"Well, I'm glad it's going well anyhow. She looks like she's learning such a lot!"

Sherlock sniffed. "Well, maybe I'll take her out for a bit. We can learn some things outside. Come on, Scarlet, walkies!"

"She's not a dog, Sherlock."

"I know! It was just a... a figure of speech. Though actually, that gives me an idea."

"Whatever that idea is, Sherlock, don't do it."

He turned round to look at her but she was already walking away. He huffed to himself.

oOo

John looked up at the flat wondering quite what mayhem might be going on inside. He braced himself for a big tidying up job tomorrow. He let himself in and met Mrs Hudson coming down the stairs.

"Everything all right?" John asked her.

"Oh yes. I think they've had a lovely time. Well, I think she has anyway." She chuckled to herself.

John braced himself and walked upstairs and saw Sherlock, sprawled on the sofa with his eyes closed. He roared with laughter.

"Daddy! I painted Sherlock!" Scarlet said, coming over and jumping up at him.

"So I can see!" John said. He couldn't help himself and he laughed again.

"I was encouraging her creativity!" Sherlock snapped.

John tried to find something to say, but he just laughed again. Sherlock's eyelids were bright blue from his eye-lash to his eye-brows. He had two perfect circles of blusher on both cheekbones, and bright red lips. The lips looked slightly sinister. There were glittery hair-clips throughout his hair.

John laughed again, and had to sit down on the coffee table to get his breath back.

"I'm going to shower," Sherlock told him.

"Oh, hang on a second," John called. Sherlock turned and got blinded by the flash on John's phone. "You can go now. I've got what I needed. Now, Poppet, did you learn anything today?"

"Yes! When I eat shudar, I go _mental_!"

John laughed some more. Sherlock sighed and stalked out of the room.

"Is there any dinner?" John called after him.

"You wanted me to cook _too_?" Sherlock asked him.

"It's fine. You have your shower and I'll sort something in a sec." He quickly sent the photo to his laptop and a selected list of contacts, then wandered through to the kitchen. On the table was the school application form. In Sherlock's neat handwriting, in the 'choice of school' box, was listed '1 – St Matthews, School Road. 2 – Hill Road Primary, Hill Road. 3 – Anywhere else will do.'

John smiled and scrawled his signature on the form and put it aside for Sherlock to deliver on Monday. He had the sneaking suspicion, he wouldn't forget.


	47. Harry

_Scarlet is thirteen._

When Scarlet heard the door go she felt torn. She knew she ought to go and see who it was, and politely take a message (or tell them to bog-off depending on whether they looked clienty or cold-cally), but she really wanted to stay and finish the chunk of orange before the paint dried and she couldn't get the colour mix again. What swayed her to the 'ignore it' side was the fact that it was a hot day, and there were two flights of stairs between her and the door.

The door went again and she rolled her eyes and set off to answer it. By the time she reached the first landing she had cheered up again. If they'd bothered to ring twice, a client was much more likely and she liked to pretend to be Sherlock's secretary on such occasions. If she took an accurate message, and more importantly remembered to hand it across, Sherlock would be pleased with her and despite finding both her parents mortally embarrassing, she still did enjoy their praise when it came.

She skipped down the stairs, hoping she wouldn't be too late. Scout suddenly appeared and raced past her, so she had to hold her collar as she opened the door. The woman caller had just started turning away but she turned back and looked at Scarlet.

"Oh, sorry, I think I have the wrong address."

"Who are you, er, looking for?"

"Um, someone who used to live here, I think. But a long time ago. It was a long-shot really. Maybe he left a forwarding address. Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, he's my Dad."

"Oh!" There was an obvious look of surprise. "Is he here? I was hoping he could find someone for me."

"He's not here but I'm, I'm, I'm sure he can er, help you. It's the sort of thing he does. Would you like to leave a, er, a, er message for him?"

"I haven't got a pen."

Scarlet examined the woman. She didn't have a bag at all, but was wearing a denim jacket that seemed to have it's pockets stuffed with all sorts of items. She was wearing leggings and a long t-shirt and her dark blonde hair was scraped back into a pony tail. She looked thin and old. The outfit would have made Scarlet think she was in the middle of some housework or DIY, but there were no evident marks. Scarlet decided that 'down on her luck' was more likely and she felt sorry for her.

"Do you want to come in? I can lend you a er, thing. A pen. Scout! Heel!"

She took her to the hall table where there was always a notepad and pen, and she watched as the woman wrote a brief note. She folded it in two and handed it to Scarlet.

"Thank you."

"That's OK. I hope that Dad can er, can help you."

"Thanks."

Despite the fold, Scarlet sneaked a quick look at the message.

"Harry Watson?"

Harry was back on her way to the front door stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"I think you might be my, my, my auntie."

Harry stared for a moment, then a memory from long ago floated into her mind.

"You're Scarlet?"

"Yes."

Harry went pale and fell back against the wall.

"Oh God! What happened to your Dad? Your real Dad?"

"Sherlock... is, is my real Dad!"

"No, I mean, I'm sorry, what happened to John Watson? Please?"

"Oh. Nothing. He's gone to the place. The supermarket. It's OK, he'll be back in a bit."

Harry suddenly laughed but was still pale and shaking.

"You look awful," Scarlet told her. "Do you want to come up there and have something to, to drink?"

"Do you think that would be OK?"

Scarlet shrugged. "Come upstairs."

Harry followed her up.

"I can make you some tea? Or coffee?"

"I'd love a drink of water please."

"OK."

Scout settled back down in her basket and eyed Harry as she started looking around the room. She was drawn to the photos that were scattered around, placed on every spare surface and hung on the walls. Most of them were of Scarlet, though there were several with both Scarlet and Sherlock together. There weren't many of John but she homed in on a framed picture stood on top of the piano. It was clearly from a long while ago, with Scarlet looking about three or four in a sky-blue dress with John and Sherlock in suits. They both had buttonholes. She wondered what mutual friend of theirs had been married.

"Here's your... your... your water." Scarlet had walked quietly up to her. She took the photo away and put it back into its position on the piano. Having done this, she looked at Harry, at a loss for what to say to her.

Harry drank some water, looking distinctly uncomfortable herself.

"Well, you've grown," she said finally.

"Yes."

"Sorry. It's the sort of thing Aunts are supposed to say. I think."

Scarlet smiled but didn't answer.

"I suppose you wouldn't know. Your Aunt's been somewhat lacking from your life."

"Only you. I see Aunty Helen all the, the time. And Uncle Mycroft."

"Do they tell you you've grown?"

"No."

"Well, you have. Since I last saw you anyway. You must have been about two." She looked embarrassed.

"But, but, but you're not the only one who's missing. I don't remember Uncle... Joe. I met him. I must have, but I was a, a baby. So he'd probably think that too. That I've grown, I mean."

Harry smiled.

"I'm recovered. Thank you for the water, Scarlet."

"Do you want to wait? They won't be out long."

"No."

"Well, I'll give Sherlock the thing. Your er, message."

"No, there's no need. It was your Dad, your Dad _John_ that I was hoping he could find for me. Now I know where he is there's no point."

"Well don't you want to wait then. To, to see him?"

"No." She looked back at the photo of the three of them. "Scarlet, are your Dads married? To each other?"

"Yes. Of course."

"So that explains why he adopted you."

"No. No, Sherlock married John because he wanted to be his... his husband. He adopted me, because he wanted to be, he _is_ my Dad. Two... separate things you see."

Harry looked at her for a long time. "No, sorry, I don't. None of this makes sense. I'm sorry, I'd better go." She hesitated. "Actually, could you ask your Dad to call me?"

It was too late. The front door opened and they heard John and Sherlock come in. They were laughing at something. Scout was up out of her basket again to see them but Scarlet and Harry stayed where they were, waiting.

John, as usual, went in through the kitchen door, dumped the bags full of shopping on the table, and headed for the kettle. Sherlock had turned though, and stood still, staring at Harry.

"John..." he said.

John turned too, and looked at her. It took several seconds before recognition dawned on his face.

"Harry?"

"Yes. Hi, John."

They all found someone to stare at.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I was just leaving."

"What? Again?" John sounded angry.

"I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry."

"Why did you?"

Harry looked upset. "I didn't think you'd be angry. I didn't think all of this would have happened." She gestured in general at the room.

"What? You didn't think I'd have a life without you? Did you think Scarlet would vanish into the ether?"

Scarlet looked at the floor and kicked her shoe, embarrassed.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Scarlet, Scout's due a walk. Could you take her out for a bit?"

"You could just tell me you want me to leave."

"Yes I could. This is more polite. Could you?"

Scarlet nodded and reached for Scout's lead.

"Actually, Sherlock, could you go with her?" John asked.

"I'm fine on my own!" Scarlet said.

"That's not why."

Sherlock looked at him, then nodded. He followed Scarlet down the stairs.

John walked to the kitchen divide and stared at Harry for a while. She looked as though she was fighting the impulse to bolt from the room.

"Do you want tea?" he asked her.

"I'm not sure if I should stay."

"I know. You always did like running away. You can go afterwards, but your here now and I'm making tea, so you can join me or just watch. Then you can leave if you want."

"John, I didn't think it would upset you. I really didn't. I thought you were probably better off without me."

"You know what? It didn't upset me. I was pretty much as low as I could possibly be, so my sister abandoning me barely made a dent. You were right, I was actually better off without having you about. I can't believe I have to explain this to you, Harry, but there was a bit of time there when I needed you, and you were nowhere. You just didn't care. After all of it, after _everything, _you just couldn't be bothered."

"It wasn't like that."

"It _was_. It was for me. But how it is for _me _never mattered to you. Did it?"

"That's not true."

The kettle boiled and clicked itself off and John turned to make tea.

"Do you still take sugar?"

"What?"

"Sugar? In your tea. You've always had one and a half teaspoons, but it's been a while, so your tastes may have changed."

"I should just go."

"No, you shouldn't, you should sit down and have a bloody cup of tea with me! Now do you still take sugar?"

"Yes." She came over and sat down at the kitchen table with him.

He spent a long time concentrating on the tea before he turned and passed a cup to her. She waited for him to start talking, but he didn't seem to want to. After a while, she found his stare uncomfortable.

"What's wrong with Scarlet?" she asked.

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong with her."

"I didn't mean... I just meant, when she's talking. She stammers quite a lot. Or not quite stammering. It's weird."

"So you haven't seen me for eleven years, and the first thing you do is pick on my daughter."

"No! I didn't... Actually I think she seems really nice, but the talking thing's odd. I just meant to show an interest."

"Among the many things you missed, Scarlet had an accident and has been left with some permanent brain damage and epilepsy."

"Oh."

"She's actually coming along in leaps and bounds, and I'd prefer you didn't crush her confidence by mentioning it."

"She seems very confident. For a girl her age."

"Yes. She is."

"She's pretty."

"Yes."

"She looks like you."

"She looks like Mary did."

"Well, I think she has a resemblance to you too." She drank some tea. "What's she like?"

"She's brilliant."

"What does she like to do? What are her favourite subjects at school?"

"Art, Music and English. Harry, you can cut the crap. You're not going to learn much about your thirteen year old niece over a cup of tea where she's not even present."

"I'm trying, John!"

He didn't say anything. He just looked across to a picture of Scarlet they had on the desk in the living room.

"It must have been hard," Harry said quietly. "The accident she had."

John looked at her. He'd never known her show so much insight before. She looked sad. "Well, like I say, she's coming along in leaps and bounds now. There are the occasional hiccups still, but the fits are getting less frequent so that's good. And the speech is coming along too, really, you can only notice when she's stressed."

"She didn't seem stressed. I mean, I wasn't correcting you, I _wasn't_, I just meant, if she was stressed, she's very good at covering it. If it wasn't for the speech thing, I wouldn't have noticed."

"Yes. She does that. Even after she fell, I could see her wanting to push herself to do things she was uncomfortable with. I mean physically. I could see she was worried at times, but she didn't want to let that stop her."

"She fell?"

"Yes, from the window there to the pavement."

"Christ!"

"Yes." He though back for a moment.

"Well, I'm pleased she's recovering so well. She sounds great."

"She is great. She's worked so hard. So hard, Harry. I gave up almost immediately, but she kept going and kept going. Sherlock's been amazing. Actually, about a year ago, he noticed that she can remember words to songs. She can sing without pausing or forgetting words and the two of them have spent hours learning songs, and sometimes putting certain things into songs, y'know, like things she has to remember for exams. Sometimes you can vaguely hear her singing when she's speaking, but she hardly ever struggles any more, certainly not when it's just me and Sherlock. Her Uncle Mycroft's got in on the act too, he has her memorising famous speeches. Mostly political but there's a heap of Shakespeare and various others thrown in there too. It's a different part of the brain you see, so the music part is undamaged an she can use that for... Sorry. Boring medical stuff."

"No. Interesting medical stuff. And it's nice hearing you talk about her." She drank some more tea, relieved that John was calming down slightly. "Mycroft? Is he Sherlock's brother?"

"Yes."

"John... I don't think I understand. About Sherlock I mean."

"In what way?"

"John, you're not gay."

"Oh! Oh thanks for telling me Harry, I'll nip out and file for divorce in the morning."

"John..."

"Seriously, Harry, why are you here? Is it just to heap disapproval on the way I've chosen to live my life in your absence?"

"I don't! John, how could _I_ disapprove?"

"Well you seem to be managing. It's been a long time, things have happened to me in that time and I'm sorry... no, wait, I'm _not_ sorry. I love him, I love Scarlet. I love my life and my family and I'm really _not_ sorry that I didn't put things on pause just to wait for you to be a part of it."

"I wouldn't have wanted that. Obviously. I just mean, these are big changes."

"Well. That's how life goes sometimes. Big things happen."

"Yeah. Well, I know you won't believe me, but I'm glad you're happy."

"Thank you. What about you? What have you been doing."

"All sorts. I was abroad a bit. I came home for a bit. I was... I was in love for a while." She smiled but there were tears too. John waited for her. "It went bad. It went very bad. He Overdosed."

"He?"

"Yeah." She wiped her eyes. "That's definitely the pertinent part of that statement."

"Nothing else was a surprise."

She looked at him, angry now. "Yeah, well, you've always been mister goody-two-shoes, more than happy to disapprove of me and my friends. So much for your nice liberal and non-judgemental mind."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm not quite sure what you want me to say. I'm sorry that things went wrong for you. I actually am! I wanted to be there for you. I was, most of the time, but _you_ left. You're the one who went away, not me. I've been easy to find for the past eleven years. Hell, you even had my website, my mobile and my last known address. Hell, Harry, you could have run either mine or Sherlock's name into Google and pick up the ruddy phone! If you'd have wanted my help, you could have just asked."

"I want you help now. Please." It was a whisper.

He looked at her, steadily. "What do you need?"

"I'm in debt. Bad debt. I've declared bankruptcy already, the people I've been getting money from aren't exactly legitimate and things are going badly and I just can't cope with it all. My landlord... I keep telling him that I'm not paying the rent because he won't fix the hot water, but he's being really unreasonable and he's really bothering me..."

"How much do you need?"

"Fifteen thousand pounds. But anything, really, anything would be a help."

He was silent for a while. He didn't look at her. Internally, he was raging, but he found he didn't want he to know that she'd upset him this much. He forced himself to stay steady.

"Well, I'll have to see. I have a family to consult now, before I make these sorts of decisions."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, John."

"Yeah. Well, we don't know what they'll say yet, do we." He suspected he did.

"Yeah. Well, thank you for the tea. And it was nice seeing you again. And Scarlet really is lovely. So... well, bye."

"Harry, you'll have to give me your number."

"I gave it to Scarlet, earlier. Can I have yours?"

"Mine hasn't changed."

"I lost it."

"Well, I'll call you then."

"OK. Bye."

He didn't follow her out.

oOo

He was still sat at the table with the two mugs in front of him when the others came home.

"Is Aunty Harry gone?" Scarlet asked.

"Yep."

She disappeared upstairs.

"All right?" Sherlock asked him.

John nodded. "Yeah. Right, dinner. What do you want?" He got up and put the cups down noisily into the sink."

"I'm more interested by what happened with Harry than food."

John didn't turn around but his shoulders hunched and grew tense. "Well, I've got to start cooking now or we'll all be hungry later."

"No, we could get a take-out, or cook something simple..."

"Sherlock!"

"John. Sit down and tell me what happened."

John turned and looked as though he was about to start but Scarlet came back into the room.

"Scarlet, what do you want to eat?"

"Pizza."

"What _healthy _food do you want to eat?"

"Vegetarian pizza. With extra pepperoni and ham."

"Scarlet, answer sensibly!"

"Why did you even ask me if you weren't interested in the answer?"

"Don't talk to me like that! Go to your room!"

She turned and stalked off, muttering that she was going to go upstairs anyway.

"That seemed slightly over the top," Sherlock pointed out.

"Oh don't you start."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He headed to the sofa and picked up a book.

John watched him for a moment and cursed himself and then Harry for making him feel this angry. He gave himself a minute to get things in perspective, then he went through to the living room and sat in an armchair. Sherlock continued to read.

"She needs money," John said.

Sherlock put his book down but didn't say anything.

"That's why she came back. She's in trouble, and she'd like me to bail her out. Again."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to impose caveats on giving her money?"

"No."

"Well, that's what we should do then."

"The thing is, I don't know whether doing that is the best thing to do. I don't want to make what is ultimately a family decision based entirely on my feelings of guilt and hope and... well, stupid optimism that it might turn her into a different person."

"I think the fact that you still love your sister is clouding your judgement. I'm sorry, but I think it's the wrong thing to do. She's had ample opportunity to learn to stand on her own two feet, and she must have been reasonably successful at that, but she's returned to the 'let's have John bail me out' scenario, because real life takes hard work sometimes and she's not interested in that."

"Wow. That was quite harsh."

"Yes."

"I know it's all true. I just don't like the idea of her destitute. I don't like it as an image in her head. We're lucky, Sherlock. It's seems wrong to have so much and not share that luck."

"Do you really think it was luck? You have an army pension because you spent several years being shot at, at the whim of the government. And in my opinion, the pension isn't nearly enough compensation. Your flat was paid for following your wife's death. Hardly 'lucky'. The rest of it, we've earned."

"Five million pounds that you got via an accident of birth and I share through the accident of falling in love with you?"

"Well, that's work too, in my opinion. But that's the money that we'll use should we choose to give some to Harry, but most of that money is earmarked for specific causes. We've chosen several charities that actively seek to help destitute people, and people with a variety of mental health problems, including addictions, and the difference with that money is that it's there for whoever needs it. Not just for the person who by chance or _luck_ happens to be related to us."

"Yes. The only argument against that that I can come up with is 'but she's my sister'."

"Well, if it make you more comfortable, I'm happy to cut Mycroft out to make us even."

John snorted. "I don't know what to do. I'm utterly torn between being livid with her for causing me so much stress and anguish and sodding off for _eleven _years and only coming back when she needed me. Do I have a sign on my forehead saying 'worlds biggest mug' or something? But I don't want to get a phone-call to tell me she's died horribly and alone and to know that I could have prevented it."

"If that happens, it will be because it happens, and not because of something you've done or haven't done. And it's actually highly unlikely. And you're not a mug, but it's learned behaviour. You've bailed her out over and over, and she has no reason to believe you won't do again."

"So you don't think it's because she loves and trusts me at all?"

"I'm not expert on either of those things." He paused and thought for a moment. "On the other hand, I love and trust you, and your the first person I'd turn to if I needed help, so maybe."

"OK, I'm going out for a walk. I'll grab pizza on the way back."

"Do you want company?"

"Always."

They called up to Scarlet who responded with a grunt and they wandered the streets for an hour. It was something they had been glad to get back, following years and years of needing to be with Scarlet constantly. Sometimes they just wandered through the park and down towards Soho and watched the people. Other times they went to scenes of cases and mocked each other for their ghoulish qualities and mistakes that they'd made and things that they'd once thought.

They didn't talk about Harry.

On the way back, John stopped for pizza and they took it home.

"Peace offering," John said to Scarlet when she appeared. "I'm sorry. I was being a prat."

"Yes you were."

"You were still being cheeky, and you still need to watch that, please."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dad."

They ate informally in the sitting room. After a pause so they could focus on the food, John outlined the situation for Scarlet.

"Harry wants to borrow money. She wants to borrow a lot of money, and that's why she came here today. She's not interested in me, or in you, or in what's going on with us. I think she wants to be, but ultimately, she came here for the money. I want to give it to her, Sherlock doesn't, so you've got the casting vote."

Scarlet chewed and swallowed. "Are you completely crazy?"

"In what sense?"

"I'm _thirteen_ and you want me to decide whether to give your, your, your sister a large sum of money?"

"Yes."

"I'm fairly sure this isn't one of those things I should decide."

"No. You're probably right. Sorry. I'm still interested in your view though."

"I mean, this sounds like one of those things where I should seek advice from a responsible adult, don't you think?"

Sherlock smirked.

"If only there was a responsible adult in my life!" she said, dramatically. "Oh, wait a minute, I'll call Mycroft."

Sherlock stopped smirking.

"You'd better not!" he told her.

She put her plate down and had a drink of water. "Actually, Mycroft would agree with you, Sherlock. He'd go all statistical about how it's a bad idea. I agree with Dad. I think we should help her."

"Why?" John asked.

She shrugged. "Because we can."

"The question is," John said, "would giving her the money help her in the long term? Or would it in fact hinder her getting on her own two feet?"

"How long have you been trying to help her? To make her better?"

"All of her life."

"And you've tried lots of stuff?"

"Yes."

"Then, maybe..., hang on, I'm just thinking of what I mean." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Maybe Harry has a long term mental health disability. Maybe, she's a family member for whom there will be no cure, but for whom we need to take responsibility for. A bit."

"Now that's an interesting idea," Sherlock said.

"Or is it just an excuse?" John asked.

"I don't know," Scarlet answered. "On account of being _thirteen_ and frankly more interested in... well, other stuff." She blushed.

"Well, thank you for your view, anyhow, Scarlet."

"And thank you for not asking Mycroft," Sherlock added.

"I might run it by him tomorrow, just to see if I'm right," she told him. "Though he might pick it for the subject of our next debate and that would be less fun."

"Your seeing him tomorrow? How is it you spend more time with my brother than with me?"

"It's school holidays and he's interesting. He's taking me to court."

"_Interesting?_ Wait. Do you mean court as in legal system, or as in waiting on the queen?"

"Legal! Why would he take me to see the queen?"

"With Mycroft, it really could be either one."

"Why would I _want_ to go and see the queen?"

"Oh, you're over your royalist phase. That's good then."

Scarlet grinned. "Can I go to my room? There's this damned orange bit and it's still too dark. I need to fix it."

"Don't stay up too late," John told her.

She kissed him and Sherlock and darted upstairs.

* * *

**And there I'm leaving it. Sorry. My main problem is, this could go either way, and I honestly don't know what would be realistic regarding the money. I think they'd do something, but not hand over £15k. Also, I've been writing this for a week, and for me that's incredibly slowly and I just want it published so I can go and hide in my drabbles for a bit.**

**This isn't the end of Slightly, but I'm low on inspiration right now, so not promising anything apart from I hope there will be more at some point. That's certainly my intention. Sorry, sorry, and thank you all once again for reading and supporting both me and young Scarlet.**

**Pip xxx**


	48. Another Crime Scene

**So sorry that this has been so delayed! I'm fine, there's nothing wrong, I have just spent the last few weeks lacking inspiration. I had a million ideas, but not wish to actually write anything. That felt odd, but hopefully it as just a tiny phase I was going through!**

**Thanks for sticking with me!**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

Another Crime Scene.

_Scarlet is Sixteen (a week or two after Drunk)._

"Scarlet I was thinking..."

"You're always thinking."

"Yes, but this was a specific thought. I was wondering, how would you like to come to work with me one day? To see what I do? You need to start thinking more about what you want to do in the future and it might be interesting for you."

John lowered his newspaper so that he could watch the two of them.

"I know what you do," Scarlet answered.

"Yes, I know you know the basic theory, but you don't know the details. It really is fascinating!"

"I don't think I want to. I'm fairly sure I know what I want to be, and I don't like gore particularly and don't have any wish to see corpses either."

"There's not always gore! And sometimes it's days before we find an actual body."

"I don't like that stuff!"

"Oh come on! You've hardly tried!"

"Sherlock, I don't want to."

"It could be dangerous!"

"Then I _really_ don't want to."

"Well, have a think about it, won't you? Because I think it would be a useful thing for you to experience. Now, how about some music tonight?"

"Actually, I'm going to go out."

"Where are you going?"

"Out with Mycroft. There's a lecture at the Friend's that we're going to see."

"Scarlet, it's your _holiday_! You don't need to attend lectures until September!"

"I _know_. I _want_ to go. Besides, it's Professor Dominic Meehan and he's only around this evening, then he's heading back to New York."

"Well why didn't you ask me to take you?"

"Because you'll find it boring. Can you just stop being weird, Sherlock?"

"When did you stop calling me 'Dad'?"

"I haven't! Sometimes I call you 'Sherlock' and sometimes I call you 'Dad, just like always! What is wrong with you! I'm going upstairs, I've got things to do."

"What things?"

"Just _things._"

He watched her go. John was ready and waiting for the fall out.

"Why doesn't she like me any more?"

"She likes you fine, Sherlock. She just wants to have her own life."

"She's stopped spending time with me."

"For a sixteen year old, she spends loads of time with us. She eats with us, she goes out places with us. She doesn't want to be with us _all the time_, but she's not bad for sixteen."

"You keep saying that. I think your standards are too low."

"Oh really? How much time did you spend with your parents at sixteen?"

"That's not a fair question! We're far nicer than my parents were!"

"Even so, Sherlock, we're still her parents and a different generation, and she's getting more independent. It's a good thing and a necessary thing. Get used to it."

"It isn't _fair_!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock."

"It isn't! We put in all that work, and now she's allowed to just go off and do her own thing with whoever she wants."

"Ah. So this is about Mycroft, is it?"

"What? No, don't be ridiculous!"

"This is because you're jealous of _Mycroft_. Your brother, who's never had a partner, who's never had a family, and you're jealous of the small amount of time he spends with his niece."

"No!"

"Get over it."

"It's just that she's wrong! She thinks _he's_ interesting and _I'm_ boring, when clearly it's the other way around!"

"OK, well I told you last time that I didn't want her going to crime scenes, so that's that."

"She was three last time! And, _and_ she wasn't my daughter then, and now she is and you're not allowed to veto."

"Actually I am, but I don't need to; Scarlet already has. She doesn't want to go, so that's the end of it. You'll have to show her that you're not boring some other way. Oh, and while you're thinking about it, reflect on the fact that she thinks _I'm_ boring too, and she spends significantly more time with you than me because of the music thing, and I'm well balanced enough to think that that's OK."

"You are boring," Sherlock mumbled.

"Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that. Would you like to try saying it again?"

Sherlock remained silent.

oOo

Sherlock spent the next few days in a sulk. It was quite a targeted sulk that only seemed to be in effect when Scarlet was present. He didn't pout, or stop talking to her. He just sighed deeply and made sad and pointed comments about children growing away from their parents and how time goes by so quickly and wouldn't they all be sad when it was too late. John rolled his eyes at these times, but he could see Scarlet getting sucked in. He didn't say anything to her but he did speak to Sherlock about it.

"Stop trying to guilt-trip her!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do! You're trying to manipulate your own daughter into doing something she really doesn't want to do!"

"Oh, and you're trying to manipulate me into stopping by being all '_your own daughter'_, and she manipulates me all the time. Isn't that basically how relationships work?"

"Is that really what you think?"

He caught the look on John's face just in time. "No. Of course not."

"Good."

"But it is! Look you're doing it now! You got me to change my mind by pulling that face!"

"What face?"

"That face that you pull and I have to change my mind! Your 'I'm disappointed in you, Sherlock' face!"

"That's not a face! I _am_ disappointed in you! I thought you respected other people's opinions more than that."

"Well I don't! But I want to for you! Damn it stop confusing me with all this caring lark. I haven't got the energy for it."

"What have you got the energy for?"

Sherlock caught another look. "What really? Now?"

"Yeah, it's that post-row-randyness I keep telling you about."

"But that was a rubbish row."

"We haven't been rowing so much lately or as badly so I'll have to take what I can get. Why, would you rather not?"

"That's not what I said."

"OK then."

Later, Sherlock left John sleeping in bed and went to knock on Scarlet's door.

"C'min!"

Sherlock entered. He glanced around at this room that was unmistakably Scarlet's. Most of the remnants of pink had gone, there were posters and photos of her with her friends stuck over her walls. Most surfaces were covered in clothes or paints and brushes. There were neat areas, where her easel and art supplies were, and where her guitar was carefully put onto its stand and the bookshelves had a sort of order. Sherlock would like to give it the kind title of 'organised mess', but there were some areas that were just straight forward 'mess'.

"I do wish you'd tidy up once in a while."

She snorted. "From _you_?"

"The rest of the flat is tidy."

"You don't do it though. What do you want? It's late."

"It is late, you should go to bed."

"So you just wanted to come in here and be all Dad-ish?"

"Yes. I mean it when I say I'll miss it when you've moved out and it's all over. I will. But I think part of you knows that and I'm going to stop going on about it."

"OK."

"Good."

"Is that it?"

"Yes, only, do you really like the legal stuff? The going to court with Mycroft?"

"Yes. Mostly. It's not always court, sometimes he takes me down to the Commons and I listen there. He does like to quiz me on it though and check I've understood and sometimes he likes to debate with me. I sometimes think he'd have liked to have been a teacher but he got sucked into politics. I keep expecting him to set an exam."

"He used to do that to me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Endless studying to get me through the Common Entrance, then more at GCSEs. He'd pretty much given up on me when I did my A's but I passed them anyway. Mostly because he'd told me I wouldn't."

Scarlet sniggered. "Yes, I guess he's always known how to play you, hasn't he?"

He frowned. "No, I didn't pass to spite him! I didn't! It was because…, well, maybe I always wanted to go to university!"

"Bet he told you Cambridge wouldn't have you."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to, I can work some stuff out by myself. He told me Cambridge wouldn't have me either and I told him Cambridge could go and spin."

"I bet that went down well."

"He pulled that strict face."

"I know it well. Anyhow, he's wrong, you could easily go to Cambridge. Easily."

"I know and I knew he didn't mean it anyway. I'll go where I want to go anyhow. I just haven't decided yet."

"Well anyway, that's all irrelevant. Well, not irrelevant, obviously I care where you go to University."

"It's fine. I know what you meant."

"I _meant_ that I came in here to tell you that you don't have to come to a crime scene with me. Not if you don't want to."

"Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Could we do something fairly simple though? And with nothing horrible?"

"Most of what I do involves horrible things."

"But there must be a scale. Some things must be more horrible than other things."

"Well, shall we see what comes up?"

"OK."

Sherlock spent the few days planning what they might see and describing the various old cases to Scarlet. John was occasionally asked for his input which he gave with a clear disclaimer that he disapproved of the whole scheme.

"It's fine!" Sherlock insisted. "Scarlet will be fine! Won't you Scarlet?"

"Well, maybe. But, well, we'll see, won't we? I mean, if I'm not, I can always just wait outside can't I?"

"There you go! She'll be fine! And I won't show her anything you'd disapprove of."

"Sherlock, just out of interest, do you every hear anything anyone else says at all?"

"What? Course I do. Now, what's for dinner?"

They were interested by a phone call.

Sherlock hurried for his phone. "Oh, no. It's just Greg." He answered and in his clipped monosyllabic style. Suddenly his face changed and he smiled. "Of course! We'll be right over." He hung up. "Come on then Scarlet! We have work to do!"

"What? I thought it was Greg!" John said.

"It was! That fool Dimmock is out of his depth so he called Greg who is also out of his depth, and so Greg called me! I have to admit, I'm not amazingly pleased at the idea of the Met calling in amateurs such as Lestrade, but it is what it is I suppose."

He grabbed Scarlet's jacket and started shoving her into it.

"What a minute! What about the crime? What is it? What if it's something I don't want to see?"

"Oh, we'll know when we get there. In the meantime, Bloomsbury! Come on!"

"Wait for me!" John called as Sherlock bounded down the stairs.

"I don't need you!" Sherlock called up to him. "I've got Scarlet!"

Scarlet looked at John with a resigned expression and shrugged. She followed Sherlock downstairs and waited for him to hail a cab. They travelled together in silence until they pulled into the curb at the side of a second hand bookshop. There were several police cars on the street, tape across the shop windows and across the door. There was a uniformed policeman stood at the door and he was having a conversation with Inspector Dimmock and former-Inspector Lestrade. They turned and looked as Sherlock and Scarlet got out of the cab.

"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock, not again!" Lestrade said.

"Twice! This particular scenario has happened twice in our history and it's clearly not worthy of a 'not again'!"

"She can't come in. Sorry, Scarlet, but you can't."

"It's fine. I can wait here."

"No, you will come!" Sherlock said and he turned to Lestrade. "I've thought of all your objections and countered them all so can we just not bother with the actual argument? Scarlet will wear the proper protective clothing, she won't touch or move anything, she's extremely unlikely to eat anything she shouldn't at this stage in her life, and I believe it's going to rain in the next half hour, so if you don't mind, I'd like to start work out here quite soon."

"The scene's inside," Dimmock told him.

"Obviously! But as nobody spirited themselves inside, I'd like to start out here!"

"Fine then, go ahead."

"What?" Lestrade protested.

"Look, I don't care if he shows up with the Queen of bloody Sheeba as long as he's here and gets the job done."

"So you don't care about the welfare of the _sixteen_ year old."

"Of course I do. But she's his sixteen year old."

"Exactly!" Sherlock said. "She wasn't last time, but now she is. Scarlet, there are suits and gloves in that tent there."

She walked off towards the tent. When she emerged five minutes later she was wearing a blue forensic suit. She pulled the hood up so that none of her hair would be found at the scene. She wandered back towards Sherlock.

"Good," he said, not looking at her. "Right, we need to be quick. What do you notice about the shop front."

"Er, one of the windows has been broken."

"Good."

"So, maybe someone had intended to rob the shop?"

"No, that's theorising from one piece of information. Stick to observation at this point."

She sighed. "The door looks forced too. And, er, there's sand on the doorstep."

He rewarded her with a big smile. "Good! Very good! I wasn't sure you'd get the sand. What can you tell me about the sand?"

"Er, it's _sand."_

"See a lot of sand in London, do you?"

"No. I don't know, it's sand. It's…" she knelt down to get a closer look. "It's quite orange. It's quite coarse."

"So, what sort of sand is it?"

"Builder's sand."

"Well done! Anything else?"

"No."

Sherlock sighed. "No, but really look, Scarlet!"

She looked around again in a half-hearted fashion, then decided she might as well make a go of it and started looking properly.

"Um, it's a specialist bookshop. It seems to be historic texts mostly. There are probably some quite valuable first editions inside."

"Good."

"I can't see anything specific about the door or anything."

"OK."

She looked towards the road.

"I don't think I can see anything specific about the road either."

"Well, never mind. You still did really well! Well done, Scarlet. You did much better than John did when he tried this the first time. I mean, you missed the cigarette end in the gutter, and the fact that the sand on the doorstep, while not in a boot-print form, clearly came from a boot, and a large one at that. Also, the cracks in the door frame there, they could only have been made by the pressure of someone quite tall being pushed hard against it. It was the same fight that broke the window."

"Oh."

"But I mean it, you've done really well. The sand was brilliant!"

She shrugged.

"Well, let's go inside shall we?"

She followed him into the shop, trying hard not to touch anything. It wasn't particularly easy as it was a smallish shop, filled with bookshelves, several of which had been pushed over, and also stacks of books, some of which had been toppled.

"Looks like the fight continued in here," she commented.

"Yes it does!" Sherlock replied with a smile.

"The body's upstairs," Lestrade told them.

Scarlet winced slightly but followed them up the narrow staircase.

Sherlock noted that the first floor contained more of the rarer and more valuable books. While still full, it was less busy with bookshelves and there was a leather-topped reading table in the middle of the room, the red leather showing several lighter marks where it had been faded by sunlight . There were several old maps in frames on the only wall not covered with shelving. There were larger books here too, which he assumed, rightly, to be volumes of coloured plates.

Scarlet noted that the first floor contained the body of an elderly man. His mouth and eyes were open. He was wedged on a chair at the table, though not seated exactly. It looked more as though the fight had forced him between the table and chair and he was now wedged there. His white hair was stained with blood, as was his shirt from the left armpit down. If she'd been in a position to hazard a guess, she'd have suggested the cause of death was whatever wound caused all of that bleeding.

After a moment, she was aware that a number of people were talking to her. She homed in on Lestrade's voice.

"Scarlet, are you OK?"

"What? Yes."

"Are you sure. You haven't breathed in in a while."

"I'm fine," she said softly.

"Of course she is," Sherlock said. "Scarlet, I asked what you notice here?"

"What?"

"Around the room. Like you did outside, what do you notice?"

She took another breath. After a moment she took another and looked up at him.

"I'm going home," she said firmly. "I'll see you back there."

"Scarlet! You were doing so well! I thought you were beginning to enjoy it!"

"Um. No."

"Look, it's just a body! It doesn't need to be scary."

"Scary?"

"Yes! It won't hurt you at all!"

She took a step backwards. "Yeah. I'm going home." She turned and walked downstairs, only half aware that someone was following her.

"Scarlet, are you OK?" Lestrade asked her as they got outside.

"I'm fine." She swatted a stray tear from her face. "Where do I leave this suit? Back in the tent?"

"No, stick it in that crate that's in the back of the van there. Look, I'll get you a cab and see you get back home."

She started climbing out of her suit. "You have to stay here."

"No I don't."

"I'm not going home anyway."

"But you just told Sherlock you were."

She looked at him. "Have you ever actually been sixteen?"

"OK. Just, look I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you go in."

"It's fine. It really wasn't up to you. Look, I'm going now. I'll see you later sometime."

She turned and walked off up the road, dumping her suit in the crate on the way past. Lestrade sighed and went back inside.

oOo

It was less than an hour later when Sherlock found Scarlet in the Egyptology section of the British Museum.

"Is this 'home' now?" he asked her cheerfully.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry, Scarlet. I shouldn't have taken you, I shouldn't have pushed you and I shouldn't have made you look at gore when you'd specifically told me you didn't want to."

She sighed. "It wasn't the gore. It wasn't that."

"Are you going to tell me what it was or is this one of those things that I'll have to wonder about for the next six years?"

"You don't need to do that. You could ask John, or Greg or, I don't know, anyone at all with a human heart!"

"Scarlet!"

"No, I just… I just don't know how you _can_! I just don't!" She bit her lip hard and turned away.

"Scarlet, I'm sorry. I really am. Let me take you home."

"I don't want to go home."

"Well, as it happens, neither do I. John will say 'I told you so', and I suspect the peaceful atmosphere of this building is all that's keeping you from shouting at me too."

She snorted despite herself and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her face.

"Actually, it's not the building, it's the bodies."

"Bodies?" He looked around the room and sure enough there were a number of glass boxes containing corpses in various stages of mummification.

"You see, you didn't even notice."

"Well, no. I've been in this room loads of times. They're just mummies, just like they're just gold coins and goblets and carvings."

"You see, that's what you think, but, well look at this one. I'm looking thinking, that skin, that I can see, someone once touched that. He was someone's Dad. He was someone's husband. I came here because it was really, _really_ horrible in that shop. I wondered about here, and it's not as bad as there, but it's… I don't think I'm making sense." She closed her eyes and thought for a while. "Sherlock, when you look and see a mummy or a corpse or a body, I see a person. I can't help it. I can't make it stop. These aren't as bad because it's so long ago and a different place, but in the shop it was awful. All I could think was that he woke up yesterday, and went about, and someone knew him, and maybe he carried his grandchild to school, and maybe he really liked riding bikes, and, and, and on top of that, all I could think was that it was just like Mrs Hudson all over again."

He took a deep breath and reached for her. She shook him off.

"How do you not see it?"

"I just… don't."

She wiped her face again and looked up at him.

"Can we go somewhere to talk? Before we go home to let John say his piece?"

He nodded. "Yes of course. Are you hungry?"

"A bit."

"There's a good Thai place across the road."

"Don't you have to go back to the shop?"

"No. As it happens there are people shouting at me there too. Come on."

It took Scarlet a while to settle down. Sherlock just sat patiently and watched her pick at her fishcakes, silently waiting for her to start talking. When their plates were taken away, she looked at him.

"It wasn't my first time, you know."

"What?"

"Well, you said I'd done very well, considering it was my first try at observation. It's not. Mycroft's been playing that game with me for years."

"Oh. Well, that's nice. That's nice for Mycroft."

"You really are jealous, aren't you?"

"Yes I am!"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to… Sherlock, you know I love you. You know you're my Dad. You're the one I'm going to tell first, well, you and John together, you're the ones I'm going to tell about university, and bring my boyfriend home to meet and you'll be the first people who know that I'm getting married, and you'll be the first people to meet my children. You know that, don't you? It's just, I like the law stuff. I really love it, and Mycroft does too, and you don't."

"I know. And I don't mean to be jealous, I really don't. Just the same way that I don't mean to disassociate a corpse I see in front of me from the person and the life that they had. Scarlet, I have to admit that raising a child has been really complicated. I'm never sure how much I should change and whether I already have and if so, how much? Sorry, you don't need to know all this. It's just it's quite a lot different to how I thought it was going to be."

"In a good way?" she said, hopefully.

"Oh God, yes! That's the problem I think. It's been so, so much better than I ever thought it was going to be, and that's impressive because I'd known you for seven years and I was fully prepared for it all to be brilliant. The thing is, I seem to spend my whole time wanting to get the most out of every moment with you. And sometimes I forget that you might not have the same agenda."

"Sometimes you talk as if I'll go to University and I'll vanish from the face of the world."

"Yes. I think I do that. I didn't see much of my parents after I left for University. I know that's not common, but I still feel as though there's only a few years left."

"I think I'll probably call you at least. Well, maybe just text. Once a week or whatever." She grinned at him.

He smiled. "I know. It is ridiculous. John's much more laid back about it all and actually looking forward to things like your wedding and grandchildren, god, he won't shut up about the grandchildren."

She laughed. "He's never mentioned grandchildren to me!"

"No, well, he wouldn't would he. _He_ doesn't want to pressure you into doing what he wants. Anyhow, I'm sorry. But that's why I get annoyed that you spend all this time with Mycroft."

"You shouldn't. I just really like arguing."

"I know."

"No, not that sort of arguing. Proper debating. The type where you have to research and know what you're talking about and you have to think about every word and example, and the second when you see that look of realisation in your opponent's eye and you know for sure that you're going to win."

He smiled as she said this. "I'm glad. So, you think, a career in law then?"

"Yes! No. Maybe. I don't know. Mycroft thinks yes. And he thinks I should go to Cambridge. But I don't know. Well, I'm fairly sure I don't want to go to Oxford or Cambridge actually. But law, I mean, I love it, but I don't know."

"What is it you don't know?"

"Well…" she stared out of the window as their main courses were delivered. "OK, well it's like today at the shop. Sometimes I think I get too involved. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I was representing someone and I was really sure they committed a crime and it was wrong and I'd have to argue against, and I'm not sure if I can do that."

"Would you have to? Surely you can choose clients."

"Yes, you sort of can, but you also sort of can't. And say I'm advising someone _really hard_ to plead guilty, and they refused? And I'd have to go to court and argue their case and I'd feel really uncomfortable with it."

Sherlock looked at her for a long time. "I find I have no advice for you."

"No, I know. You see, that's why Mycroft is quite useful to me, even though I don't love him nearly as much as I love you."

"What does he advise?"

"He doesn't. He listens, gives me examples and stories and makes it clear that the decision's mine. We have discussed other forms of law recently though. I'm clear that I don't want to do contract law because that just makes me want to tear my hair out. Sometimes I think I'd like to do family law, because I think I could make a real difference to people, y'know, intervening on behalf of kids or sorting out some calmness when families break up. But the flip side to that is that most of the time I'd be seeing people at their worst. People trying to get as much as possible for themselves, and loads of arguing and, well, I think I'm not sure I have the stomach for it."

"What about what that Judge said that time? What about human rights?"

"Well, yeah, that would be brilliant, but I'd have to start in criminal, and I worry about that."

"Right."

"And other times I think, _clearly_ I want to be an architect."

"Well, you'd be using your Art then."

"Yeah. But the flip side of that is, it's like a hundred years of university. And while I really like looking at buildings, would I really want to design them forever, and it would mostly be little cardboard houses that can be knocked up cheap and no real challenge. And other times, I just want to run away and be in a rock band, but then, I don't like loud places or crowds much, so I don't think that's for me either."

Sherlock smiled again. "Does it help for me to tell you that I think you're going to be successful in whatever you do?"

"No, not really. In fact, if you could say 'don't do that, you'll be rubbish at it, it might narrow things down a bit."

"OK, well don't be a consulting detective. You'd be rubbish at it." She laughed. "Actually, you wouldn't be, you'd be brilliant, but miserable, so where's the point."

"Yeah. And I keep coming back to Law. I really love it. I love going to court with Mycroft, I love dissecting what I've heard there, all the arguments, making my own mind up, thinking what I'd say and do. Heck, I even like the buildings! All of them! Even horrible, sixties law-courts smell like Law when you walk into them! But then I think, all that stuff will probably wear a bit thin if I work there every day. It'd become normal."

"Well, it's been four years of going fairly regularly and you still light up when you talk about it. That must count for something."

"I suppose. Law then."

"You still don't sound sure."

"No. Well, if I'm thinking Law, A' Levels have to be English, Law, and Mycroft's pushing _Latin_ which would be useful but I've never studied it. And I think I'd like to have Sociology or Psychology in there too, and that pushes Art out, and I've already decided against Music, because I can do that at home, but then, I _really_ love it, and I really want to do History of Art, and that would be a better choice than Art itself, but if I drop Art, I'm really saying goodbye to Architecture or Design and I wonder if I'm really, really sure…" She stopped and sighed again.

"So, when I suggested that you needed to start thinking about this stuff, I've missed the opportunity a bit."

"Yeah. By about two years."

"Yes. But you've already got your A'levels sorted haven't you?"

"In theory yes, but I'm signed up for five as well as stupid General Studies, and getting on those five depends on me getting the right GCSEs and I'm expected to drop one by Christmas. But which one?"

"Well, I'd suggest two things. I'd suggest that you work out which one you want to drop based on which courses you're enjoying most at the time. I'd also suggest you eat your Red Curry before it goes cold."

She smiled and did so. He watched her eat for a while.

"Scarlet, I think I'd forgotten how complicated being sixteen can be."

"Yeah, well that's just the school and career stuff. There's all the Ben stuff too."

"What Ben stuff?" he asked, sharply.

She noticed the change of tone and flushed slightly. "Oh, it's nothing, it's just… y'know, boyfriend/girlfriend stuff."

"Such as?"

"Such as… being late when we've arranged to meet up, forgetting birthdays, that sort of thing."

He loosened slightly. "Oh, that stuff."

"You should try this curry. It's really good."

She concentrated fully on her food and he gazed at her for a long, long time.


	49. Supermarket

**Something a little shorter and a little sweeter than usual, but do not worry, Sherlock will indeed be getting to the bottom of the Ben situation quite soon.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

_Scarlet is three. It's September, and from what I recall, three months after Sherlock and John were married._

"OK. OK, be quiet, Turnip, just for a second, I'm trying to think."

"OK, I can be quiet! I can be like a little mouse, Sherlock! I can be a grey mouse with whiskers, and pink ears! Sherlock, if I was a mouse, would you try to put me in a trap?"

"Hm? Um, yes, probably. Mice are good for experiments."

"Speriments? Is that like cheese? Because mice like cheese. Would you feed me cheese, Sherlock?"

"Um, no."

"Why not?"

"What? Wait, what did you ask?"

"Can I have some cheese?"

"Why? Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Well, cheese is a bit impractical. Here, have this apple."

"Here! Young man!" Sherlock turned to see an elderly gent pushing a trolley towards him. "You can't give her that! You haven't paid for it!"

"Well I'm going to pay for it!"

"It doesn't belong to you until you've handed your money over! The child needs to learn to wait!"

Sherlock straightened up and his nostrils flared. "I intend to purchase the apple! The rest of the pre-weighed bag is in my trolley and the barcode will scan the same value whether that apple is in the bag or not. This is a substantial amount better than you, with the bottle of brandy you have in your breast pocket that you clearly don't intend to pay for at all. Your wife doesn't know you drink does she? Oh! Oh, you're going to share your brandy with your other lady-friend!"

"Have you, have you been following me! How dare you! How dare you! Who put you up to this you little… was it Arthur?"

A number of shoppers had stopped to watch the altercation. Eventually an overweight security guard ran panting into the aisle.

"Hello, gentlemen!" he wheezed. "Can I help with anything?"

Sherlock fixed his eye on the old man. "I don't know. Can he?"

There was half a second before the man blinked. "No. Thank you, sorry, just a misunderstanding."

The old man sniffed, and marched off. The security guard nodded and wandered off. Scarlet, sitting happily in the trolley seat swung her legs and ate her apple.

"You're not going to report him then?" came a voice from behind him.

Sherlock turned and smiled. "Molly! Hello! No, I don't think so. What difference does it make to me whether he steals brandy or has an affair?"

"Well, it's still stealing."

Sherlock hesitated and shut his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, but he's an old man, probably trying to make ends meet on a pension, and why isn't he entitled to have a little leniency now he's contributed his whole life?"

Molly frowned. "Who says he's contributed his whole life? Maybe he's not a nice old man but a horrible old man."

"John says he's contributed his whole life."

"He knows John?"

"What? No, I shouldn't think so." Molly frowned at him and he suddenly shook his head. "Sorry, this shop is slowly driving me insane. John's trying, and mostly failing, to teach me compassion. I understand the concept; I just don't care. So when it comes up, I just try to think 'what would John say?'"

She laughed. "So you were trying to channel John."

"Yes. Turns out John's stupid."

"Who are you?" Scarlet asked.

Sherlock turned to her. "Sorry, you two don't really know each other do you? Scarlet, this is a friend of mine and of Daddy's. Her name's…" he turned to Molly. "What do I go with? Molly? Or Ms Hooper?"

"Molly's fine."

"This is Molly. Molly, this is Scarlet, John's daughter. My Step-daughter."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Scarlet."

"Do you have a dog?"

"No."

"A cat?"

"Yes!"

"What's his name?"

"Toby."

"You're nice."

"Thank you."

"Turnip, do you really base your opinions of people on nothing more than their pet's names," Sherlock asked.

She took a bite of apple and spoke through it. "I'm not allowed a cat or a dog or a mouse or a rabbit or a pony or _anything._"

Molly smiled. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Scarlet. Maybe I'll see you sometime if you come to work with your Daddy."

Scarlet swallowed. "Are you a doctor too?"

"I am!"

"Molly mostly works with dead people though," Sherlock told her.

"Oh! Do you know Mummy?"

Both Sherlock and Molly stood back and glanced at each other.

"No," Molly said. "Well, I did know her when she was alive, but not now." She smiled again. "Well, I won't hold you up any more."

"Actually, Molly," Sherlock said, "Could you help with something? John's given me a list of stuff to get and I can't find any of it. We've been here an hour and so far I'm still only quarter of the way through."

"It's really boring! We're going round and round and round."

"Well you're not exactly helping!" Sherlock said. "I ask where things are and you keep directing me to the toys or the jelly!" He turned to Molly. "Sorry, I think it's the awful lights and horrible ceiling, and the stupid amount of people. None of the locations of anything are staying in my head, just people and people and people."

Molly smiled. "What do you need next?"

Sherlock looked at his list. "Macaroni. If I'm deciphering John's bloody handwriting correctly."

"Bloody, bloody, bloody, bloody…"

"Turnip, you're really not helping, sweetheart." He sighed. "It's not with the cheese."

"No. Why would it be with the cheese?"

"Why would you want macaroni without cheese?"

"That's a good point. Come on, I'll show you."

He pushed the trolley gratefully after her.

"Where's John anyhow?" Molly asked him. "Isn't this more his domain? I always saw him as the more domestic one of you. No offence and all that."

"No, you're right. He is. He's temporarily incapacitated."

"What?"

"He hurt his wrist."

"Molly! You know what? Daddy and Sherlock were playing in their bed, and Daddy fell out of bed! And then Sherlock fell on top of him! And then Daddy shouted loud! And I waked up and came in! And Sherlock didn't have any clothes on! And he said some bad words!"

"Scarlet, I keep telling you that not everyone needs to know everything that happens."

"And then he woke up Mrs Hudson and I slept in her bed! And then Daddy went to hostipple, and then he came home with a, a, a, thing on his arm! And I drawed a flower on it!"

"I bet he liked your flower, didn't he!" Molly said, trying hard not to laugh.

"He did! Better than what Sherlock writed on it! He said it was rude!"

"Really?" Molly couldn't hold the giggle in.

"Yes, marvellous, Scarlet. You feel free to tell everyone that I broke my husband's wrist during sex."

Molly laughed some more.

"What's sex?" Scarlet asked. "Is it what you were playing?"

"Oh, God. Look, here's a game! Why don't you say the name of everything you can see on the shelves! Yes, like that! Only quietly. Even quieter. Whisper it."

"Oh Sherlock!" Molly said, still laughing. "I am sorry, I don't mean to laugh."

"No, it's fine, everyone laughs. Mrs Hudson laughs, Lestrade laughs, Mycroft laughs. Everyone thinks that me being married with a family is really, bloody funny."

"Bloody beans, bloody sketti, bloody tomatoes…" Scarlet chanted.

"I bet that's going to go down really well too." Sherlock sighed.

"I'm sorry." Morry looked at him, seriously now. "Sherlock, are you OK? I have to admit I haven't kept track of what's going on, but John didn't push you into all of this did he?"

"What? No! No not at all! Why would you think that?"

"Well, like I say, I haven't kept track of what's going on with you. I sort of… well, I didn't really want to talk to you after that business with Jim, and only kept track of you through John and Mary. So it felt a bit odd, years after all of that, suddenly finding out you and John are together, and he's over the moon! And then the whole 'secret wedding' thing and, well, part of me wonders whether you felt sorry for your friend and whether he pushed you all into this. And now meeting you here, and you're clearly miserable…"

"I'm not miserable!"

She looked at him for a moment. "Well good. I'm glad."

"No, Molly, I'm really not! I'm miserable right now because I really, really hate supermarkets. Every time I come in one I feel like my brains are bleeding into these bloody lights! And it would be slightly better if Turnip was able to stop talking for two seconds. Or at least not continually tell people every little thing that passes through her mind. There were two whole aisles when she was talking continuously about the various different poos she'd produced!"

"One was bigger than the whole house!"

"Turnip, remember, you're saying what you can see."

"Training her early then?" Molly said, laughing again.

"What? Oh. Yes, I suppose it sort of could be training, I suppose."

"So you're sure not feeling pushed or unhappy?"

"No. Not usually. I just _really_ hate supermarkets. But I broke my husband's wrist and he's taught me just enough compassion to make me understand that that means I have to do the shopping and the washing up and any carrying of Scarlet."

"OK. Well, I'm glad then. I'm glad you're happy."

"Thank you."

"Though I remain annoyed that I didn't get to come to the wedding."

"If it helps, I regret that too. I keep telling John that we should do it again and he keeps flatly refusing. Though he tells me that if you insist people come to your wedding then you are expected to feed them after and provide some sort of entertainment, so that puts me off a bit."

She shook her head at him. "Here, macaroni!"

"I love pepperoni!" Scarlet shouted.

"This isn't that," Sherlock told her. "This is macaroni. You like this too."

"I made a horse from it."

Sherlock stared at her blankly.

"Was that at nursery?" Molly asked.

"Yes. I stuck it to the paper with glue!"

"That sounds brilliant!"

"Right," Sherlock cut in. "Where might pepper be in relation to where we are now?"

"Here, give me your list. I have an idea, Scarlet, why don't I push your trolley, so me and you can chat, and Sherlock can follow with mine, and we'll find everything both of us needs really quickly, shall we?"

"Then can we go to the park?"

"Oh, Turnip? Can't we just go home and sleep?"

"I'll take her to the park if you want."

"What, really? You'd volunteer to spend time with the child who never shut's up?"

"I used to volunteer to spend time with you, didn't I? And she's much more fun!"

"Yes. I suppose she is." He watched Molly and Scarlet pulling faces at each other for a moment. "Molly, I'm sorry."

"What? For what?"

"For all of it. I treated you horribly."

"Yes, you did. But on the other hand, I let you. You were still the most wrong, but things started picking up for me when I stopped letting people treat me horribly."

There was a split second when he saw a look of pain cross her face and he frowned. "What is it?"

She looked at him for a moment and smiled. "Sherlock, I'm really pleased that nothing happened between you and me. I know it wouldn't have worked at all, and I really am happier now anyway. But I miss Mary a lot sometimes." She smiled again.

He nodded slowly. "Why don't we buy a picnic and all go to the park together?"

"Yes! Pitnic!"

"Are you channelling John again?" Molly asked him.

"Yes. I thought that one was quite good though."

"It was. Let's get this done and go to the park."

They all ended up at the park. They'd stopped at the flat to put the frozen food away and John insisted on joining them too. As soon as they were away from the road, Scarlet was released and she ran off, waving her arms, shouting as she went.

"Grass! Grass! Trees! Sun! Birds!" she shouted wildly while running. She tripped and fell and was up instantly and was laughing at the sky. Sherlock restrained himself for a while, then he went to run with her. He held her by the hands and spun her round and round until she was dizzy and fell down and laughed again. John and Molly found a place to put a blanket down and started unpacking food together and then sat and watched.

"You know, I though Sherlock was interested in me," John told Molly. "It turns out he just wanted a three year old to play with."

"I think if you'd have told me seven years ago that Sherlock would turn into _that_" Molly replied, nodding at him, "I'd have had you committed."

John snorted. "Yeah, you know, I'd have done the same. It's funny, isn't it, what happens to people."

"Yes. I think it really is. I have to admit, I had my doubts about the two of you. I don't now. It's just one of those odd things that really shouldn't make sense, but it does."


	50. Let's Talk About Sex

**Yes I **_**know,**_**I gave you baby-Scarlet just when I'd got you interested in Scarlet's boyfriend! Alas, the course of true love never did run smooth, but you all know this, so here's how it all started off for Scarlet.**

* * *

_Sixteen. It's the October after Scarlet started A levels._

Mycroft and Sherlock sat across from each other at the table in the lounge. Between them was a chess board with a game in play. They weren't talking a great deal but were staring at each other intently. John was sat in an armchair, watching a documentary.

Sherlock glanced up from the board to the window and he smiled.

"Game's over. Scarlet's home. You have to leave now."

"Why do I have to leave?"

"I just said; Scarlet's home."

"I want to see how her Law lecture went. They were doing the Grant-Bonsell treaty and I want to know if my name was mentioned."

"Tough. If you want a daughter, have one of your own."

"Sherlock! For God's sake!" John said.

"John said you're not allowed to talk to me like that. And you're not allowed to monopolise Scarlet. So there."

"Mycroft! Just leave it!" John said.

They settled down as the heard the front door close so they could listen to the sound of Scarlet walking the steps. She got to the front room door and stared at them, looking flushed and with tears in her eyes.

"I'm giving up," she informed them. "I'm dropping _all_ my A levels." She threw her bag down hard the turned and ran all the way upstairs.

Three men looked after her with their eyebrows raised.

"She can't be allowed to give up Law," Mycroft said. "She has far too much potential!"

"Oh, she's not giving up, Mycroft!" John told him. "It's just a teenage strop."

"Well in that case, she's not my daughter and one of you two should sort her out." He turned back to the game. After a few moments he looked up again. "Well isn't one of you going to go up then?"

"No, not yet. I'll give her half an hour to have a good cry and then take her a drink," John told him.

"Alcohol?"

"No! Tea! She's not a Victorian lady, nor is she in such a state of hysteria that she needs a tot of brandy!"

"Oh. Well, I don't know how these things work!"

"You don't need to stay now, anyway," Sherlock told him. "Clearly you didn't get a mention in her Law class."

"Shouldn't we finish the game?"

"I have checkmate in five moves."

"Oh, good. I have it in three!"

Sherlock frowned and leaned forwards to check. The frown deepened slightly.

John looked up surprised as Scarlet came slowly back downstairs. She walked in and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, missing Mycroft wincing at the act.

"Sorry," she said. "Does anyone want a cup of tea?"

"I'll make it," John told her. "Coffee, Mycroft?"

"Yes please." He continued to watch Scarlet until she turned away, embarrassed, and followed John into the kitchen.

"I can do it," she told him. "I am capable of making tea even if I can't do anything else."

"I take it you had a bad day?"

"It was a rubbish day in a hideous week in a stupid month. I can't do it! I can't do A levels! I went into Law thinking that at least I'd understand that because Mycroft had told me all about it and it still didn't make any sense and it took me half an hour before I realised I was on the wrong week and I'd prepped for the treaty next week and this week was something to do with something else that I just didn't get! I'm just too stupid. I'm not smart like you and Sherlock!"

"Scarlet, you are every bit as smart as I am, probably more so, and very few people have Sherlock's brains and to be honest, you don't really want them."

"Bloody hell!" Sherlock yelled from the front room. He realised he'd been heard and glanced up at the others with a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I apologise for your Father, Scarlet," Mycroft said with a smirk. "He's just realised he's lost at chess."

She laughed slightly through her tears and sat down at the table Sherlock came to join her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I just can't do A levels. Can't I take a year off?"

John sat down with her as well, and put a cup of tea in front of her. "Scarlet, you know you _can_, but I'm not sure you really want to. I'm also not sure what would be different next year or what sort of work you think you could do in the meantime, unqualified, at sixteen. I don't imagine whatever you'd get would be worth missing college for."

"Work?"

"Ah. So the question wasn't 'can I leave school'? It was 'can I stay at home all day and do nothing for a year?' Life doesn't work that way, Scarlet. You don't have to pay rent while you're at school or university, but you do the rest of the time."

"Really?" Sherlock asked. "That seems harsh."

"That seems like life."

Scarlet frowned. "I own the house. Technically, you pay me rent."

John smiled. "I thought you said you weren't clever! Is that really what you want to do? Be a professional landlady for the rest of your days?"

"I could sell some pictures maybe?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from across the room. "Sorry," Mycroft said.

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock asked him.

"Sherlock, why do you have to be so horrible?" Scarlet asked.

"Yes, Sherlock, why?" Mycroft echoed.

"Mycroft, would you like to join us? Your coffee's over here." John waved him over.

He joined them. "Scarlet, I don't want to influence you unduly, but you really will make an excellent solicitor, and then an excellent barrister, and then it's likely you'll make an excellent judge. You have the intellect, and you have the passion for it. You have the compassion too. If you were to give up now, it would be a real loss to the profession."

"Equally," Sherlock said, "Your artwork is brilliant! If you were to take that forward, I think you'd undoubtedly succeed!"

"But _Law_ would give you a stable career," Mycroft said.

"But you could choose one of the more stable careers in _Art,"_ Sherlock said.

"Look, both of you, stop it!" John cut them off with an angry glare. "Settle down, put your egos aside for a moment, could you? Now, Scarlet. Do you still want to go into Law?"

She sighed. "Yes. I'd love to. But maybe I've set my sights to high! Maybe I should look at becoming a legal secretary or a paralegal or something like that? It'd still be law! I'd still be able to listen and be interested!"

"It's an option, certainly, but are you absolutely sure that you could sit in court or send clients in to offices without wishing that you were the solicitor everyone wanted to talk to?"

She slumped. "No. But I don't think I can do it. It's so _hard!"_

"Are you sure you're not making too much out of a bad day?"

"I don't know. I haven't felt happy or comfortable since I left Hill Rise. It all just seems too big and too much and everything's expected to be different and I'm not."

"Well, you signed up for five A Levels with the expectation of dropping one. Have you decided which one yet?"

"No. I'm rubbish at all of the ones that I thought would be most fun."

"Scarlet, are you absolutely sure that you're rubbish at this work?" Sherlock asked her. "I just don't think that can be true! I think you're probably over-reacting!"

She put her head down on the table. "I'm just tired," she said. "I'm probably just being silly like with everything else."

Sherlock's eyes flashed and he sat back to regard her.

"Scarlet," Mycroft said, "I am becoming less busy as I'm getting older. If you think it might help, I wonder whether I might tutor you for some of your subjects. I'm not suggesting that we starts an intense training regime, just talk about upcoming subjects and assignments so that they don't seem quite so unfamiliar to you, and perhaps helping you to organise your time a little?"

"Mycroft! She doesn't need your input!" Sherlock said.

Scarlet sat up again though. "Would you really do that? Would you really help that much?"

"Yes of course! It's merely an extension of all the conversations we've had since you were a child."

"She still is a child!" John said quickly. He suddenly frowned. "Oh, no you're not. Sorry. I forgot."

Scarlet smiled at him briefly and looked back to Mycroft. "I'm not sure… Look, Mycroft, I'm not sure I could cope with a tutor every day."

"Well, I'm not sure I could cope with being a tutor every day."

"No, perhaps not. But you have been here every day since I started college. I had noticed."

"I've had things to discuss with your parents!"

"I'm not that stupid, Mycroft."

"Mycroft, it's a very nice offer," John said, "and I'm pleased that Scarlet's thinking about it. But I have to admit I'm also concerned that it might become a little bit too much. I mean, would you be OK with her finding her own way under your guidance, and standing back when you disagree on how to proceed? Even if you think she's going to make an awful mistake?"

Mycroft frowned. "Why would I let her make a mistake? Also, if I haven't persuaded her to my way of thinking at some point, I would be failing at my job, surely?"

John smiled. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

"No, I could! If you tell me that it's necessary and _useful_ to do that, then of course I will!"

"It's harder than it looks," Sherlock told him.

"Well, perhaps John could help me."

Scarlet snorted. "So Mycroft is going to tutor me and John is going to tutor Mycroft in tutoring me." She turned to Sherlock. "So what are you going to do?"

"Actually, I have had an idea about that. I think I should be in charge of extra-curricula activity."

"Oh God, no!"

John laughed at her reaction, and even Mycroft sniggered.

"No, listen, you've been working too hard. I'm not suggesting you spend your time of with _me_, though if you were to do so that would be nice… No, what I mean is that you need variety and the opportunity to go to galleries, or to go and see something at St Martin in the Fields, or do some of those nice relaxing things we used to do. Just to take a break from all the tutoring and homework and fun lectures."

"And to go out with my mates and go shopping and that sort of thing?"

"Well yes, obviously those things too, but also pleasant, relaxing things. Scarlet, you're working too hard at the moment! I've seen you up and working at your computer until two and three in the morning! I'm not surprised you are struggling a bit!"

"Yeah," she said.

It wasn't lost on either John or Sherlock that she blushed slightly at this point. Their eyes met briefly over the top of her head.

"Why don't we get started now?" Mycroft asked. "Why don't you go and get your timetable and your curriculum notes and we'll see if we can make a start now!"

Scarlet stared at him.

"What?" he persisted. "There's no time like the present!"

"Do you want me to throw him out, Scarlet?" Sherlock asked. "I will if you want."

"No, he's right, I might as well get started." She stood up and retrieved her schoolbag.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Mycroft?" John asked him.

"Yes please!" He started spreading out Scarlet's school books over the table and he shoved Sherlock out of the way so that he can sit next to her.

An hour later Scarlet was chatting quite happily about her schedule and assignments with him. He'd read some of her essays and John had been quietly impressed by the way in which he was three parts praising to one part criticism. Eventually he ordered them to clear away so he could serve food. Scarlet checked the messages on her phone just before eating and she frowned and sighed was quiet for the whole of the meal. As soon as she had finished she dashed upstairs again.

"Sorry, Mycroft," John said. "She is grateful, really. She's just also sixteen and that's complicated."

"It's fine, John. I'll see her again tomorrow. Thank you, for a very pleasant meal."

"You're welcome."

"Wait, isn't it Mycroft's turn to wash up? If he's coming here regularly then he ought to be taking a turn with the washing up!"

"Another time, Sherlock. Tonight is still your turn."

Sherlock huffed but got up and started filling the sink. "Goodnight, Mycroft!" he said.

As soon as Mycroft was safely out of the door, Sherlock turned to John.

"It's Ben, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"Will you talk to her?"

"I will. I don't know whether she'll talk to me though."

"So won't talk to me for certain. She knows I hate him."

"No, no, no. Well yes, actually she does."

"Yes. I messed that one up. Sort it out for me, will you?"

John smiled and walked up the stairs to Scarlet's room. He could hear her talking to someone but he knocked anyway.

"Come in!" she called. She had her phone on her lap.

"I just wanted to know if you wanted to take Scout for a walk with me."

"I'm kind of busy."

"OK, well, I'll be around for the next half hour or so if you change your mind."

"OK."

He smiled at her and closed the door.

"It's Ben," he said to Sherlock as he got downstairs.

"Bloody Ben."

"Yeah. You know all that I said to Mycroft earlier about not stopping her make her own mistakes?"

"Yes."

"I may have been wrong."

"No, you know you were right."

"Hm."

They sat down next to each other to stare at the TV for a while. They were both pleased when Scarlet came downstairs twenty minutes later, wearing a light jacket and trainers.

"I thought I would come for a walk after all. If you don't mind." She smiled briefly.

"No, I don't mind at all!" John leapt up to find his own shoes. Sherlock frowned at his eagerness, but Scarlet had already wandered off along the hall.

They walked together through Regent's Park. Scarlet was very quiet, not even paying much attention to Scout. John walked beside her, stealing glances every now and again. She seemed lost in thought.

"So," he said, "do you think you might feel better about all the school work now that Mycroft is on side? I think as tutors go, he might be quite a good one."

"If he lets me make my own mistakes?"

"Yes, well, perhaps. He'll be worth listening to though. He can be quite childish, I'll grant you, but he's also very knowledgeable. And at least he tries to be calm and fair."

"I think Sherlock's cleverer."

"I think so too. I think Mycroft wonders about that as well. They're both over fifty now and they are still so competitive. Could you imagine them as children?"

"Actually, imagining them as children is really easy sometimes!"

"That's true."

"They both think Sherlock's won though. At life I mean. He's got me and you."

"Yes."

Scarlet looked as though she was going to continue, but she lapsed into silence instead. John continued glancing at her. He gave up waiting.

"Scarlet, is everything else OK at college?"

"Hm? Yes! Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You must miss Sophie."

"A bit. I think she made the right decision though."

"Is that why you thought of dropping your A levels?"

"No. Well, maybe. She likes her apprenticeship. They don't do them for law though. I did wonder about swapping colleges for a bit."

"Really?"

"I just don't know if I can be bothered."

"Mm." He let her be silent again for a moment.

"Have you seen much of Ben recently?" He almost held his breath.

"Yeah, a bit. We don't have many subjects together though."

"You must miss him being there."

"Yeah."

John looked at the trees and waited again.

"Actually, I think sometimes having the time off from him is quite nice," she told him.

"Yes. Sometimes being in a relationship can feel a bit claustrophobic. I know my life improved immensely when Sherlock started letting me shower by myself."

She smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Is the shower not a good location? Actually, I don't want to know."

"No, not like _that_. I mean, even before we were together he used to come in and sit on the toilet seat and talk at me and expect my full attention. And then after we were together yes, he'd be prowling but I told him to sod off. It's just I like to have a shower by myself. Just ten minutes in the morning where I'm not expected to listen or answer questions and bother about other people. Just ten minutes! It didn't seem like a big ask."

"I bet Sherlock thought it was."

"He did."

"Sometimes people can be so selfish."

"They can, but I don't think Sherlock meant to be. He was just eager."

"And he didn't mind? That you told him no and that you wanted your own space?"

"He complained, because he's Sherlock, but he accepted it. I think both of us were more pleased that I didn't give in."

"Sherlock didn't want you to give in to him?"

"No. He still wants to have me at his beckon call, but he didn't want me to give in to him either. He doesn't want me subservient. He wants an equal relationship, and conveniently so do I."

"Mm."

She was quiet again. As they got close to the end of their walk she found a bench and sat down. John sat down next to her.

"Dad…"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can."

"About sex?"

"Yes. Of course."

"With you and other people, not with Sherlock, have you ever… I mean, was there ever… I mean… Have there been times when one of you wanted to have sex and the other didn't?"

"Yes, of course there has."

"What did you do?"

"We didn't have sex."

"And the other person didn't mind? The one of you who did want sex."

"No. Well, there might be a moment of grumpiness depending on the circumstances. In one or two cases it did sort of make me question the relationship. It was an indication that we weren't in the same place, so it might have been that it was better to end it."

"So relationships need sex or they just die?"

"No, I wouldn't, and in fact didn't, put it that way. Perhaps, if it's just not there at all, if there's just no physical connection and no sign that there ever will be one then that might be an issue. But equally, it might be that the sex is there, the connection is there, but there's not a whole lot of anything else, and that would also make me question it. So it's not as simple as 'having sex equals having a relationship'."

"But if you are in a relationship, surely it's sort of understood? You see, I get the whole respect thing. If someone doesn't want to have sex, then you don't make them have sex out of respect. But what about respect the other way around? It's a big feeling and if you love someone, shouldn't you try to make them feel… more comfortable?"

"No. Not with sex."

"Not at all?"

"No. It's not sharing your sweets with someone, Scarlet. It's sex. It's your _self_."

"But…"

"But what?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should stop talking about this."

"No, I don't think we should. If you're confused or worried about this, then we need to keep talking."

She shrugged.

"Look, Scarlet, it's difficult having this conversation with you, because you're my daughter, and because your sixteen and so that sort of gets in the way, and every instinct I have wants me to tell you to never, ever, _ever_ have sex."

"You want grandchildren."

"Yes and if you could arrange for the stork to bring them, that would be perfect." He smiled as she did. "But Scarlet, I'm fairly sure that if we don't talk about this, honestly and calmly, then we're both going to feel fairly rubbish that we couldn't."

"Mm. But you have basically said 'don't have sex'."

"No I haven't. I've said don't have sex when you don't want it just because someone else does. And I have to admit I've sort of assumed it's that way round. That Ben wants to have sex and you don't?"

"Yes, it's that way round."

"Good. Because I just had a sudden thought that I'd raised you without making it clear that it's utterly wrong to pressure someone in that way."

"No, you haven't."

"Good. OK, well the other problem with you being sixteen is that it's a big step to take. And whether we're talking about having sex in a relationship for the first time, or talking about having sex for the first time _at all_, well, there are different things going on."

"Mm."

"But I'll try to answer as fairly as possible. And in both circumstances, you need to know that it's OK not to have sex, and that it's _not_ OK for someone to pressure you."

"OK." She was silent for a while and he watched her again, waiting. "OK, well could I ask another question, but more general, and perhaps more hypothetically?"

"Yes, if you want."

"Say that's not a factor. Say the whole thing isn't about first-time sex at all. Say a hypothetical person had had sex in a particular hypothetical relationship. Does that now mean that the sex-gates are now open? That suddenly it's a sexual relationship and therefore sex is always sort of… on the table. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean." She looked at him. "Are you OK?"

"What? Yes. Yes of course I am. Sorry. So… Sorry, can you repeat the question?"

"If you've had sex, it means that you like sex and you like the person you're with sexually, but sometime you don't want it. And maybe they think that all your reasons for not wanting it right then are a bit rubbish. And you don't really have any proper reasons anyway, you just don't want it right then."

"OK. Well, the point still stands. Even if you've had sex every day in June, it doesn't mean that you are automatically saying that you'll have sex on the first of July. If you don't want it, you say no."

"But it's a big deal to the other person. And it wasn't every day, it was only twice."

"No, I didn't mean that. If it's only once or twice or every day for a month, it's _still_ OK to not have sex on any occasion that you don't want it."

"Well he might feel that because he's experienced it, all the feelings of needing it again are loads stronger, so it's even harder for him to wait."

"If he does he's a complete shit."

"But he's not! It's just this! And look, I've never been a boy so I don't know how it feels but he says that sometimes it really hurts and it's like loads of pressure. And they don't talk to boys about what periods feel like, and they don't talk to girls about what having a sperm build-up feels like either, so how would I know?"

"A sperm build up?"

"Yes!"

"Scarlet, he's being an utter shit. I'm sorry, but he is. There won't be a build up of sperm or a blockage, his balls won't turn blue, and his penis won't fall off. And even if that were all true, don't you think he might resolve the situation by going to have a wank?"

"He says he doesn't like wanking now that he's had sex with me."

John snorted. "Well that's a lovely line, Scarlet. It's a delightful compliment, but it's also a lie. It might not as good as sex with someone you love, but it's still good."

She looked away for a moment. "Am I really this gullible?"

"No. You're sixteen, you've got a lot, an _awful_ lot going on, and you're a bit… bamboozled."

She stared at her feet but didn't say anything for a while.

"OK, Scarlet, I know you don't really want to hear about your parent's sex lives because nobody ever does, but it's the best example I can give you. Sherlock and I are together, we're married, and yet sometimes it happens that one of us wants sex and the other doesn't. And even then, even after fourteen years of a relationship, even _then_ it's OK for one of us to say no. There doesn't have to be an argument, a debate or any particular reason. There has to be a 'no' and that's it."

"I can't imagine Sherlock ever accepting that. I can imagine him throwing a tantrum."

"Really, Scarlet? Do you really not know him at all? Do you really think he respects me that little?"

She blushed. "No. I'm sorry."

"No it's fine. I'm not going to lie, there have been times when he's let his disappointment show, and I've let him know that I'm annoyed by that. But we know each other well and we know what we need from each other. It's like I said at the beginning. Me not backing down is better, long term, for both of us. He knows that, I know that. It's about mutual respect, and caring for and _loving_ each other. There are some things that you don't force or even pressure someone to do, and this is one of them."

She pulled her feet up onto the bench and rested her head on her knees.

"Scarlet, can I put this another way?"

"OK."

"Supposing Louise was to tell you that her boyfriend was pushing and pushing her to have sex and she really didn't want to, what would you tell her to do?"

"I tell her to tell him to sod off."

"Yes. And what if she said 'but I wore a really short skirt and so I was sort of saying it was OK', what would you tell her then?"

"I'd tell her she was being an idiot."

"And what if she said, 'well, we started off and we were having fun and it was like foreplay, but then at the last moment I'd changed my mind. But he'd already put a condom on, and so he told me I couldn't change my mind', what would you tell her then?"

"I'd tell her that if he told her she couldn't change her mind and he made her have sex anyway, then it was rape, and she needs to talk to the police."

"And you'd be right."

"And the police would do nothing, because it's just kids and who said what is so hard to prove, and then she'd feel rubbish for even raising it in the first place and all the fingers would be pointing at _her_ for making a fuss."

"Well…"

"And the fact that there's a fifteen per cent guilty verdict on rape cases isn't because women cry wolf and make up malicious allegations just because they're men-haters, it's because the system sucks and women are made to feel bad for even saying anything. And it's because we're not adept at gathering evidence and getting things resolved quickly, efficiently and with care, that these things keep happening so why bother even talking about it?"

"OK, well…"

"And people still think that girls are supposed to stay in and dress like chaste little nuns and if they don't they're basically 'asking for it'. So _of course_ girls grow up confused and thinking that it's all their fault and they have all the responsibility to keep themselves out of trouble! And the penalties for rape only seem to come into play when it's violent rape, because, _of course_ some rape isn't _violent_, and even then the penalties are laughable! So people grow up thinking maybe it's not that bad to push and wheedle and lie!"

"OK, Scarlet…"

"Oh, God! I really have to study Law!"

John smiled. "Yes. And I did think you knew all of that so I was a little confused as to why you were questioning it now."

"I think it feels different when you're trying to find your way through it."

"Yes. So, what do you think you're going to do about Ben?"

She sat back and sighed. "I don't know. He's never forced me, Dad, I can't imagine he ever would either. I don't want you to think that about him."

"I don't. And to be honest, he's a sixteen year old boy and his hormones are in overdrive just at the time when his stupidity is likely to be at it's worst, so I suspect he'll grow out of all of it. But I guess I'd ask you if you really want to deal with that pressure right now."

"Mm. No. He was cross this evening because I hadn't answered his texts because I was talking with Mycroft. He said I was being passive aggressive. I can see how it looks that way though. And sometimes it's nice and we have a laugh and it's all good. It's just at the moment that he seems to have become really distracted by all of this and he doesn't want to listen to me at all."

"Well, I think you might want to have a think about it. Whether you really want to deal with that while you're waiting for him to grow out of it."

"But if I leave him, he might find someone else who does want to have sex all the time, and then he'd be nice again, and I'd miss out."

"Scarlet, he won't become nice simply because he's having sex. And besides which, maybe then you'll find someone you love more."

"Mm. Do you love Sherlock more than you loved Mum?"

"I don't think I can answer that question, Scarlet. I don't mean to be evasive, it's just the two relationships are different. I still have moments where I miss your Mum like crazy. But I have other moments when what I feel for Sherlock seems bigger than the whole universe."

"It feels horribly disloyal, but sometimes I'm really glad Mum died so I got to have Sherlock as a Dad. But other times I really wish she hadn't died so that I could know her or remember her just a tiny bit. I'd like to have known her. But I wouldn't give up Sherlock for it. But I would have liked to have known her."

"Yes. That's pretty much how I feel. As if I could somehow have them both. Anyhow, it's getting late and I'm assuming you do want to go to school tomorrow, so let's go home."

"OK. Dad?"

"Mm."

"Thank you. Obviously you know I've never ever had sex, and I have no intention of ever doing so. Ever"

He laughed. "Yes, and me and Sherlock grew out of it all a long time ago too. Now we're old we just sit and read."

"Really?"

"No."


	51. Aidan

**Profound apologies for not responding to the lovely, lovely reviews on the last chapter! I felt good about that one so I'm glad it went down well. Alas, I have been without internet since Friday. Feel free to growl at Virgin Media - if it wasn't for them, you'd have had this chapter on Saturday.**

Aidan.

_Scarlet is nineteen._

"Stop looking at me like that," Sherlock grumbled.

"I'm not! Looking like what? I'm not doing anything!" John replied.

"You're looking at me as though you're terrified I'm going to die at any minute."

"Well I don't mean to. Just calm down."

"I'm perfectly calm. You're the one who's getting over-excited. And not in a useful, pleasant way either."

"For god's sake, Sherlock!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you're thinking about that at a time like this!"

"A time like what? I feel much better now! Besides, I like hospital sex and there's not nearly enough opportunity for it."

"Sherlock…"

Scarlet suddenly appeared in the doorway to the ward. She scanned the beds anxiously and found Sherlock and John. She rushed over to them. Her eyes were quite red.

"Sherlock! What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, Scarlet, I'm _fine_."

"John said you had a heart attack!"

"_John!_ Why would you go and upset her like that?"

"I said a very small heart attack, and that you were fine and that she didn't need to come home at all."

"I didn't believe him. He said it in his concerned voice."

"There was no need to tell anyone anything. It doesn't need this level of fuss!"

"Sherlock, you had a _heart attack!"_ Scarlet said. "How could you!"

"Well I didn't do it on purpose."

"I bet you haven't been taking care of yourself!"

"I've been fine. I'm fine."

"He's been working almost non-stop for five weeks," John told her, "then after that he decided to gorge himself, and then, for reasons I still don't quite understand, run up all the stairs in Big Ben!"

"I explained to you…"

"I don't want you to explain again. I want you to admit you were silly, and to tell me you're not going to do anything so silly again."

"Sherlock!" Scarlet said, crying now. "You are absolutely not allowed to die. Not under any circumstances!"

"Scarlet, I'm not going to die. I'm fine. I'll be back home in the morning. I'm sorry you've had a wasted trip. John, stop upsetting her!"

She shook her head at him crossly and wiped more tears away.

"Come here," he said to her and when she was close enough he pulled her into a hug. "I'm not going to die. I'm fine. You don't need to worry."

He kissed her head and looked over it to see a young man, stood a short distance away. He had curly, black hair and dark brown eyes, and was looking slightly uncomfortable, as if he didn't want to intrude but he didn't want to leave either.

"Scarlet," Sherlock said, "are you going to introduce us to your _friend?_"

"What?" she said, pulling away. "Oh, yes. Aidan, this is Sherlock, my Dad, and John, my other Dad."

"I'm pleased to meet you both," Aidan said in a gentle Dublin accent. "Though, obviously not in these, well, I mean, I'd prefer to meet you at some other… Well, I'm glad to meet you, obviously, but I'd…" He blushed. "Hello."

"Hello," John said, smiling and shaking his hand. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Aidan."

"I'm not," Sherlock grumped.

"He's kidding," Scarlet said quickly. "Sherlock, Aidan drove me home, all the way from Durham, to see you. So be nice."

"Humph."

"Well, I'll get out of your hair in a bit anyway," Aidan said. "Do you want me to get you something to eat first, Scar? You haven't had anything since breakfast."

"I'm fine."

"No, you have to eat," John said. "I'll come with you, Aidan."

He looked very happy as he walked with Aidan from the ward.

"Wow, you can almost see his little matchmaker lights glowing," Sherlock said as he watched them go. "Well, I appreciate Aidan for being a distraction for John, anyway."

"He's nice. I like him."

"Yes, I can tell."

"Sherlock, really, a heart attack!"

Sherlock sighed. "Look, Scarlet, if that was what a small heart attack feels like, I certainly don't want to have a big one. I'll look after myself, I promise. I'll even let John look after me even though he'll be annoying and bothersome and won't let me do anything fun. Now, why don't you tell me about Aidan?"

"I'm not sure there's much to tell really," she said. "I'm not sure he's interested."

"Yes, he drove you half way across the country just because he happens to own a car. And even if he hadn't, his entire body language is screaming about how much he wants you. Come on, Scarlet, you know enough to know that."

"Well, OK, we're good friends. But I'm not sure either of us should be distracted from Uni at the moment."

"Well that sounds very sensible, Scarlet. I heartily approve of any plan that involves you not moving too fast. And any relationship that has a good base in a good, platonic friendship is bound to be a solid and lasting one. You go as slowly as you like. Don't let yourself get pushed by any parental influence that's obsessed with a wedding and grandchildren."

Scarlet laughed. She looked across at him. "You do look tired."

"I have to admit I don't have any inclination to move from this bed just now."

"Then you must be ill."

"Well yes, I did have a heart attack. I will be fine, but I'm prepared to take it nice and easy for a bit. Will you look after John tonight though? He's happily distracted right now but I think I worried him horribly for a bit. Take him home, and make sure he eats something and gets some rest, will you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm thoroughly intending to stage a break out tomorrow, so I can take over. And you need to go back to University tomorrow and get ready for the end of term."

"OK. But you have to take it easy. _Very_ easy. And if the doctors want to keep you longer you have to let them."

John and Aidan came back onto the ward. "The cafés are all shut now and the vending machines didn't look too promising so I'm going to take these two home and get them something to eat. Is that OK with you?"

"It's perfect. I'm not intending to do anything except sleep now anyway."

"And I've told Aidan he has to stay with us tonight. It's too far to drive both ways in one day. He can set off after breakfast."

"He should take Scarlet back too."

"I really don't mind staying until you're out of hospital," she said. "It's almost Christmas break anyway."

"Oh, there's an idea," John said. "Aidan, why don't you come and stay with us for Christmas?"

"Dad, Aidan's parents quite like him to go home for Christmas."

"Oh, yes. Of course." He smiled again. "Sherlock, Aidan's at medical school. He's going to be a doctor!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh god, John. Aidan, save yourself! Run for your life! Take Scarlet with you!"

John grinned but as he kissed Sherlock goodbye the concerned look came back over his face. "Sherlock, promise me you won't do that again, won't you? Just, don't."

"OK," Sherlock whispered back. He looked frightened for a split second. "I love you."

"I love you too. I'll take them both home now, and I'll see you in the morning."

He kissed him again and walked away with Scarlet and Aidan.

oOo

Just over a week later, John dashed down the steps at Baker Street to where Scarlet and Aidan were standing, shaking snow off their clothes, in the hallway downstairs.

"Oh, I'm so pleased you got here OK."

"Yes, me too," Scarlet said, kissing him. "The snow started coming down hard about twenty minutes ago. There were a few hairy moments further north, but we just missed the worst of it there too."

"Yeah, well we've been fretting…"

"I haven't!" Sherlock called from upstairs.

"I've been regretting not telling you that it's a foolish idea and to just stay put like the Met office advised."

"Well if we'd have done that, Scarlet would be stuck on her own for most of Christmas," Aidan said. "And she's been fretting about Sherlock."

"No I haven't!"

"I'm sorry you can't make it home, Aidan."

"It might clear by tomorrow. Or at least, that's what I'm telling my mother every hour. Thanks very much for having me Doctor Watson. I didn't really want to wait it out in an airport terminal."

"It's no problem at all. And it's John. And thank you for delivering Scarlet back; we did want her home. Come upstairs," he turned to lead them upstairs. "What are you doing up?" he frowned at Sherlock.

"I wanted to see Scarlet too! You were taking ages!"

"Go back in there and lie back down!"

"I'm _fine!_"

Scarlet giggled. "Come on Aidan, I'll make you a tea." She led him into the kitchen. "Wow! What happened here?"

The kitchen table was almost bowing under the weight of plates of biscuits, cakes and pies.

"Oh, well I wasn't sure what time you'd arrive so I did some baking. And then Mycroft and Greg turned up with stuff from their cook having had the same idea. They left a bit ago, but I'm sure you'll see them at some point in your holiday. Anyhow, I hope you're hungry."

"I'm starving," Aidan said. "Sorry. Not polite. But I'm starving."

"Well dig in," John told him. "Sherlock, do you want a tea?"

"Not if you're going to make it really weak and milky with no sugar again."

"You're not allowed to over excite yourself."

"With _tea?_"

"I'll make it," Scarlet said.

"No, you'll sit down and eat."

"John, this shortbread is really good," Aidan told him.

"Thanks. But the shortbread was from Mrs Ellis."

"Oh. Well the pork pie is good too."

"Also Mrs Ellis."

"The mince pies?"

"The ones that are round, golden brown and dusted with sugar were Mrs Ellis. The ones that are more squarish, burnt around the edges and pale looking in the middle, those ones were mine."

"It was one of them. It was brilliant. Best I've ever tasted." He grinned.

"You're a good boy, Aidan," John said. "Sugar in your tea?"

"Please."

"How come he gets sugar and I don't?" Sherlock called. "Is it because he lied about your baking? Because I could do that, but I value honesty."

"Settle down, Sherlock. Think calm, relaxing thoughts." John said. "Aidan, you should take his blood pressure later, just for practise. It's really funny."

"I'm not a toy!"

"Calm, relaxing thoughts, Sherlock!"

Scarlet got up again to finish the tea and she carried a cup through to Sherlock.

"I put sugar in it," she told him. "But you have to promise me it won't give you a heart attack."

"It won't."

"How are you? Really, I mean."

He moved his legs from the sofa and rested them on the coffee table so she could sit down beside him.

"I'm slightly shaken, I'm worried about John, and I wish I'd taken slightly more care of my body when I was younger. I'm extremely annoyed that I was the one who had a heart-attack and not my continuously over-weight and sedentary brother. But other than that, I'm fine."

"Well, I'm glad you're not doing too much right now. And I'm glad you're being honest with me."

"Thank you." He smiled at her. "You look happy."

She sat down next to him. "I am. I'm worried about you, but I'm happy otherwise."

"What happened to the going nice and slow plan?"

"I revised it. That pep talk from you at the hospital was excellent, by the way."

"I'm not sure you got the true essence of it."

"No, it was good. Thanks."

John came to join them, as did Aidan, who was carrying a plate piled with cake and mince pies.

"Sherlock and I have been thinking, Scarlet…" John said.

"I haven't been thinking."

"We were thinking about maybe getting a cottage in the country somewhere. Maybe in Sussex."

"It's a ridiculous idea," Sherlock muttered.

"If we had a place with a bit of a garden, we could keep bees or something."

"I don't want to keep bees. If I want honey, I'll go to a shop! Or send you to a shop!"

"It might be nice to have a slower pace of life for a bit. And of course you'll still own this place so it's not like we'd never be able to visit."

"It's a stupid idea," Sherlock growled.

"What do you think?" John asked Scarlet.

She took a sip of tea and thought for a while. "I think that if you take Sherlock away from London, you might as well tear his heart out right now and jump up and down on it."

"Hah! Thank you, Scarlet," Sherlock said.

"I still think we should think about it. A nice house, with a nice garden and a quiet life. We've done a lot, we should settle down now."

"Mm, perhaps," Scarlet said. "As long as it wasn't permanent."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean, it's all very well for the next few years for a rest, but at some point, not soon, but at some point I'm going to want to start a family. I know I'm being selfish really, but when I've got children, I'd quite like to have you near. I'm sure I'd be fine even if you weren't just around the corner, but I'd still want you close enough so that any children could see their grandfathers a lot. And you'd be able to see them in school plays and in their boy-scout uniforms…"

"You're right. Moving to Sussex is a rubbish idea, let's stay here," John said. Scarlet and Sherlock laughed. "Right I was going to air out Mrs Hudson's flat for Aidan."

"Oh, don't go to any trouble!" Aidan said.

"It's fine, he can sleep in my room," Scarlet said.

"On the floor a _very_ long way from Scarlet's bed," Aidan said. "Zipped into a sleeping bag with a lock on it."

"Or in my bed. Either way, don't go to any trouble."

"Scarlet!" Aidan blushed.

Scarlet smiled happily and stole a biscuit from his plate.

Later in the evening when they'd finished their dinner, Sherlock watched John watching Scarlet and Aidan doing the washing up side by side and chatting with each other.

"Stop it," he said, quietly.

"What?"

"You're planning the wedding in your head! It's silly. She's only nineteen, give her a chance."

"Aidan's really nice though."

"I don't hate him."

"Well, that puts him ahead of all her previous boyfriends."

"I don't hate him despite the fact that he's a short, dark-haired Irishman."

"Hah, I hadn't thought of that. He's not that short though. He's taller than me."

"Your point is…" Sherlock grinned. "He really is very nice."

"Really? You've checked and everything."

"Yes. He's not evil, and he really likes her. Not just in the 'she's pretty and I might get laid' way. He likes her. They laugh a lot together. I don't hate him."

They looked up and smiled as Scarlet and Aidan came into the front room.

"What plans have you two got for the evening?" John asked.

"Well, it's still coming down outside, so any plans will have to be set in 221B Baker Street." Scarlet answered.

"Scarlet's told me all about what you two do," Aidan said. "I was wondering if you could tell me about some of your cases."

"Oh, that's a nice idea," John said.

Sherlock had narrowed his eyes though. "Gosh, she's got you very well prepped, hasn't she, Aidan?"

Aidan blushed. "No, I really am interested!"

"I'm sure you're _very_ interested. But I've got a counter-offer. Baby pictures."

"No!" Scarlet said.

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea!" John said. "I'll get the albums."

"Oh, I'd like to see baby-Scarlet!" Aidan said. "And I know for sure that my Mum will drag out mine as soon as Scarlet gets through the door."

"So, you're intending to take her to Dublin to introduce her to your family then?" Sherlock asked.

Aidan blushed again. "Well, I mean, if she wanted to. At some point. Maybe. But not necessarily!"

John came back with a stack of albums.

"Oh God," Scarlet muttered.

"No! See how cute, Aidan."

Aidan took one and laughed. "You were a funny looking baby, Scar."

"I was not!"

"She looked like a turnip," Sherlock told him.

"I didn't!"

"No, actually, Scar, you kind of did," Aidan said.

Scarlet laughed at him. "No! I was cute! There must be some cute pictures in there."

Aidan turned several pages, looking earnest. "No, sorry, Scarlet, you were an ugly, ugly child." He shook his head sadly.

"Stop it!" she laughed, hitting him with a cushion. "It was clearly a rubbish photographer to blame."

"No, I took some of them," Sherlock said. "What you see is what was there."

"Oh, look, young Sherlock!" Aidan said. "You've always been thin!"

"Yes, what of it?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be personal. It's the med-school talking; I'd sort of assumed fluctuating weight issues."

"No, Mycroft had them. By rights, he should have had the heart attack."

"It's the starvation that's the problem," John said. "When he's on a case, he won't eat. Not _can't,_ he _won't_ because he's stubborn and stupid. So if he works five or six cases a months, weeks will go by and he'll have stuffed himself silly on maybe three or four days with nothing in between."

"Kindly stop talking about me as if I wasn't here!"

"No, but you can't do that!" Aidan told him. "When your body runs out of fat reserves, it starts eating anything that's left! You'll have starved and killed half the essential muscles in your body!"

"Aidan, I've been telling him that for nearly twenty-five years. If you get him to hear it, you're a better man than I."

Sherlock rubbed John's back and squeezed his shoulder.

"I'll do better now! I've told you I'll listen."

"Is it permanent damage?" Scarlet asked.

Aidan glanced at her. She looked worried. "Well, he needs to start building up slowly, but it's quite hard to tell what's happening without looking inside him. But I'm sure he'll be fine."

"His EKG wasn't too bad, so I'm quite hopeful," John said. "Actually, I've got a print out of it, do you want to see?"

"Can I?"

"Yeah, come over here!"

John dragged out a heavy looking box-file onto the table and put his glasses on.

"You've got copies of all your family's medical records?" Aidan asked.

"These are just Sherlock's but yes. I shouldn't but I do. Please feel free not to mention it to anyone."

"No that's fine." Aidan put on his glasses and looked closely at the chart John was showing him and some other papers and reports. "It really was a very small heart-attack."

"Yes, so John tells me, but then he won't let me walk across the room without fretting."

"Well it was still a heart attack," Aidan pointed out.

"It's funny," John said, "when he was shot he milked it for all it was worth. He had everyone running about like they were his servants, but now he says he doesn't want a fuss at all!"

"He was shot?"

"Yeah, the records are in here somewhere." He dug through the box and pulled out a folder. "Here you go."

Aidan looked through them eagerly.

"Aidan?" Sherlock said. "Many, many years ago, someone told me it was not polite to look through someone's medical notes without their permission."

Aidan paled and started putting them away. "I'm so sorry! You're right, I can't believe I… I'm so, so sorry!"

Sherlock grinned. "It's fine. You can look."

"No, I mean, I'm really sorry!"

"No, absolutely do look at the brain scan stuff. That's _interesting._ A bullet's just a bullet, but you can look at that too if that's what amuses you."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Have you got Scarlet's too? She told me about her head-stuff…"

"I have."

Aidan glanced up at her. "Could I, maybe sometimes…"

"It's a bit personal, Aidan. And I was only ten. I'm not saying 'no', but maybe not now. Read Sherlock's, he doesn't care, he quite likes the attention really."

Aidan settled back down to read and Scarlet snuggled up closely to Sherlock to watch him.

"There's something ever so slightly sinister about that," she said.

"Oh come on," Aidan said, "when I take you home, I know for sure Dad will drag out the whole O'Hara land dispute paperwork and you'll be all over it."

She grinned.

"Really though, Sherlock," Aidan said, "You really have to start looking after yourself! This file really shouldn't be this big!"

"And I've decided that I don't like Aidan any more," Sherlock said.

"I do," John said.

"Sorry," Aidan said looking embarrassed. "But you do have to look after yourself!" he burst out.

"I really like him," John said.

"Look, more photos," Sherlock said. "She's nearly cute here!"

"Mm," Aidan responded.

"She's naked in this one…"

"Oh I've seen her…" Aidan stopped himself and looked up at Sherlock. "Oh! I've seen her… with blonde hair! But she says it was red once, are there any photos of that?"

"Oo, that wasn't good at all," Scarlet said, shaking her head at him.

"I hate your boyfriend, Scarlet," Sherlock said.

"He's kidding," she told Aidan. "But maybe put the files away now."

He obliged but Sherlock allowed him to listen to his heart and take his blood pressure. Quite soon Aidan and John were sat on the armchairs discussing various changes in medical practise and new trials and research that were going on. Sherlock and Scarlet were curled up looking through the albums and laughing together.

"What's this one?" Scarlet asked, picking up another box. "Is it all the loose stuff? No, it's my pictures!"

"Not all of them," John said. "It's just some of the smaller bits and pieces that I really liked."

Scarlet and Sherlock looked through them together and quite soon Aidan was attracted over to look too.

"These are really good!" Aidan said. "I've only seen your cartoon stuff! These are amazing."

"I love this one," Sherlock said. It was a simple line drawing of John, taking up half the page with doodles around the outside. He handed it over to her.

"Mm. I meant to make these up into bigger pictures at some point but I never got round to it. This was ages ago! Before Mrs Hudson died. There should be one of her in there too, and one of Sherlock." She looked through and found the matching set. "I intended to make them up properly during the summer holiday, when I had time, but then the whole court thing happened and suddenly I was doing that instead."

"You still could," Aidan told her. "If you wanted to. It would give you something to do when you start working too hard and your brain starts going a bit mental."

"Mm," she said. She looked sad.

"What is it?" Aidan asked her.

"I was just thinking how different my life would be if that court thing had never happened. I wonder if I'd ever have gone into Law. Sometimes I fell a bit like I've just been swept away by it all."

"But you love Law."

"Yes. Yes I do. But I loved doing this too. And I was good."

"You don't have to put Art away forever."

"No." She smiled at him. "Come upstairs. I'll show you some of the bigger pieces I did when I was younger."

He smiled and followed her upstairs.

John started clearing away the papers and pictures, and then he went to sit down next to Sherlock.

"Are you OK?"

"I am. Are you?"

"Yes. I think so. I'm glad Aidan is here. He's nice and if he hadn't turned up, Scarlet would still be fretting and worrying over you. He's a nice distraction for her."

"Yes. And for you. No, I'm pleased, I mean it. I've been worried about you."

"You shouldn't be. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. And that's why I absolutely promise you that I'm going to behave myself, and look after myself and live a good long time. Long enough to see Scarlet's wedding and children and all of those nice things that I know are coming. And I don't need to move out of London. I'll behave, I'll let you look after me and we'll both live a nice, long time."

"OK."

"Now, let's head up to bed. And make a nice loud noise outside Scarlet's bedroom to make sure they aren't getting up to anything."


	52. Baby!

**This is an odd one to write. I've been thinking of Scarlet's wedding day and family life for a while. The thing is, don't think I could out-do the **_**Just For Fun**_** chapters 'Engaged' or 'Back to the beginning'. This one, now it's finished, can be read right before 'Back to the Beginning' if you so wish. You might have to change a few lines in your heads, but I quite like this now it's done.**

**Also, thanks for reviewing! I really do appreciate every single one. I read them all, and I'm happy to respond or answer questions as long as they're signed and you allow PMs. **

* * *

_Scarlet is twenty-six._

Mycroft opened the front door to his flat.

"Ah, Scarlet! Welcome and come in!"

"Hello, Mycroft! How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you. How are you? You look tired."

"What? I'm fine." She smiled at him but he continued scrutinising her. "I had a bit of flu earlier in the week, and I've been working hard to catch up, I'm pleased it's left me looking haggard, thanks for drawing attention to that!" She smiled at him again.

"Well, if you say so. Did you bring me flowers?"

"No, they're for Mrs Ellis, for cooking for me and cleaning up afterwards."

"I keep telling you, I pay her a good salary for doing just that!"

"And I keep telling you it still feels weird. I'll just pop to the kitchen and I'll come and join you. Oh, I forgot, Aidan's running late in surgery. He'll be along as soon as he can."

"I've sent a car for him. They'll wait as long as is necessary."

"Thanks, Mycroft."

She joined them in the lounge a few minutes later. Sherlock and Greg were arguing.

"What's going on?" Scarlet asked.

"It's the same old argument," John told her. "It's been twenty-five years without resolution, and yet they're still trying."

"No, Scarlet," Sherlock said, "What would you have done? Two identical pills, one that might kill you, and one that might kill a _serial killer_. I'd say that the chance of killing the killer was worth the risk, particularly if you were certain that _you had the right pill_! What would you do? Scarlet? Scarlet?"

"What? Oh, sorry, my mind was elsewhere. What was that?"

"Worth risking your life for a fifty-fifty chance of killing a serial killer?" Greg asked.

"Oh, that. No, he was wrong for even getting in the cab with someone who even might be a killer. I'm sure someone told me that once, I've still got slides on it somewhere around."

"She's right," John said. "You were silly."

"Scarlet? Are you OK?" Sherlock asked. "You look a bit tired."

"No, I'm fine. I've just been working hard."

A bell rang. "Time for dinner," Mycroft said. "I'm sure we can continue to argue over food."

"We've always managed before," Scarlet agreed.

Scarlet herself was actually quite quiet over the meal. She was vaguely aware of the conversation going on, and four elderly men discussing old cases, sometimes with squabbles, mostly with laughter. Mycroft continued to watch her closely though.

"Scarlet, can I refresh your wine?" he asked her as they were finishing their main course.

"What? Oh, no thanks, I'm still good thanks." She motioned to her full glass and smiled.

"Is there something wrong with your food? You've barely touched it."

"No, it's fine! It's lovely. I'm just not very hungry."

"I'm sure Mrs Ellis would be happy to make you something else."

"No, don't be silly. This is lovely, look I'm eating!"

"Leave her alone, Mycroft," John said.

Mycroft would not be deterred. He'd also attracted Sherlock's attention and Scarlet was aware of the stares of both of them as she blushed and tried to eat her meal.

"So… anything interesting happening in Whitehall, Mycroft?" she asked.

"No, nothing. Are you sure I can't interest you in something else? Perhaps some ginger-beer to drink."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"I'm sure Mycroft could get anything you wanted, Scarlet," Sherlock said. "Whatever it might be. Banana pizza perhaps? Anchovies? Coal?"

"Fish fingers with custard?" Mycroft said.

"What's going on?" John asked. "Is she hungover?"

"I don't think so," Sherlock said.

"Then leave her alone! Stop being strange!"

"Scarlet, are you sure there isn't anything you want to tell us?" Sherlock asked.

"No!"

"Are you just waiting for Aidan?" Mycroft asked.

"No! Stop it now or I'll leave!"

"What is it?" John asked. "What's going on?"

Scarlet blushed and briefly looked as though she was going to cry.

"Scarlet, are you OK, love?" John asked her.

"I'm _fine_, perfectly fine." She glared at Mycroft and Sherlock, and went back to pushing food around her plate.

John frowned and looked at Sherlock and Mycroft who were looking very smug while they watched Scarlet. He looked back at Scarlet.

"Oh! God! Wow!" He suddenly shouted.

"What?" asked Greg. "What the hell's going on here?"

"Nothing!" Scarlet snapped. She pushed her plate away and put her head in her hands.

Greg looked at Mycroft and Sherlock, unmistakably brothers, sat back with their arms folded, looking at Scarlet with an air of satisfaction. He glanced at John who was grinning broadly and misty eyed. He looked back at Scarlet.

"Scarlet? Are you pregnant?" he asked.

She looked up and there was the faintest of smiles now, along with the blushes and tears.

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone! Aidan's going to be furious!"

"Well," Greg said, "if you were going to try to keep _that_ a secret, I'd perhaps suggest not coming for a meal with those two over there!"

"Well, the alternative was to avoid seeing them entirely for the next seven weeks and that might also have caused suspicions."

"Seven weeks? Isn't that a bit short for a pregnancy?"

"We only wanted to keep it quiet until after the first scan. Aidan… you know, for a doctor he's been horribly superstitious about this. Also, he doesn't want to tell his Mum that she's not the absolute first person to know. I think she'd like to find out before I do!"

"Well I have a solution," Mycroft said. "We'll simply make an agreement that we won't let Aidan know that we know. I'm sure we four can keep a secret! I'm certainly able to."

"Yes, I don't doubt you for a moment, Mycroft. John, however…" she glanced at him.

"Yes, I see the problem," Mycroft agreed.

"Oh, Scarlet! A baby!" John said, bright red, weepy and grinning broadly. "A baby!"

"Dad, did you hear the keeping-the-fact-that-you-know-from-Aidan plan?"

"It might be a boy!" John squeaked.

"Yes, it might well."

"Or a girl!"

"Yes, I'm sort of assuming one or the other."

"Could be twins," Sherlock said.

"Twins!" John squealed.

"And it might not be too, so don't get excited about that, Dad! Dad! Come down to Earth for a bit!"

He tried to reach her across the table, then gave up and walked around. "Come here!" he pulled her into his arms, then held her back slightly, looking intently at her. "How are you? Really?"

"Tired. Really, really tired. I want to sleep all the time. And I'm stupidly tearful. I nearly cried in court yesterday over a ruddy _cat_, it was ridiculous. And nauseous. If it was morning sickness that would be one thing, but it seems to be morning, then afternoon then evening nausea, and the joy of being sick all night. And then I'm even more tired! Did I mention I'm tired? Sorry. I'm really happy to be pregnant, honestly, but I'm really miserable too."

"That's fairly normal. Your Mum said it's like winning the lottery but having to take all the money home in two pence pieces. What about fits and migraines?"

"Hideous migraine on Tuesday so that doesn't bode well. It was short though so that's something. No fits as yet though."

"OK, well you keep me informed about that, OK?"

"Do you want to lie down now?" Mycroft asked her. "You're more than welcome to my guest room."

"No, I have to be able to make it through the day! It's just silly."

"It will get better," John told her, hugging her tightly again.

"I want a turn!" Sherlock said, walking around the table. John turned Scarlet around and handed her over. "Congratulations, lovely Scarlet!" Sherlock said to her.

"Look," she said, pulling away. "There is a serious point that we shouldn't all get over excited. It's still really early. By my calculations I'm only five weeks so let's not get carried away. We can celebrate properly at twelve weeks when we've checked it's there and it's got a heartbeat and all its limbs. OK?"

"And we'll know if it's twins then," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock!" she snapped, and she sank back onto her chair. "So if we can all dial down the excitement, and not tell everyone we happen to pass in the street, that would be great. And don't mention it in front of Aidan."

There was a murmur of agreement. Mrs Ellis came in.

"Are we all ready for desert?" she asked.

"Yes please, Mrs Ellis," Mycroft said.

"Mrs Ellis! Scarlet's pregnant!" John blurted out and Scarlet sighed at him. "No, I wasn't just randomly… it's why she hasn't eaten much!"

"John, you're useless," Sherlock muttered.

"Oh congratulations, Scarlet!" Mrs Ellis said, "That's lovely news."

"It's sort of a secret," Scarlet, replied. "But thank you."

"Now, what would you like to eat? You have to have something. What works for you at the moment?"

"I'm fine."

"You might as well say, Scarlet," Mycroft told her. "We won't let it lie until you do."

"Grapefruit juice. I'd really like some grapefruit juice."

"I'll get some immediately!"

"No! Please don't go to any trouble!"

"It's no trouble! Don't worry, pet, I'll get some now."

Scarlet put her head in her hands again. The front door was opened and Aidan came in. He surveyed the scene.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing!" John said, grinning.

"We're just teasing your wife, that's all," Sherlock told him. Then he smiled widely and looked away.

"So, everyone knows then?"

"I didn't tell them!" Scarlet insisted.

"It's OK. I accidentally told a couple of people at work," he said. "And Mycroft's driver. And the security guard who let me in. It's strangely difficult not to!"

Scarlet laughed.

"Aidan," Mycroft said, "we're trying to establish what Scarlet wants to eat. She's not telling us. Does anything spring to mind?"

"Well, she threw a mug at my head when I forgot and ate her last pork pie this morning."

"I _need_ protein in the morning! I told you! I nearly threw up on the tube this morning and it was all your fault!"

"I can do protein!" Mrs Ellis said. "What about boiled eggs? I can do that, and I have some ham in the fridge too. Do you want toast with it?"

"I can't eat all of Mycroft's food!"

"I'll survive, Scarlet. You should have what you want."

"OK. OK, well I would trample down tiny children to get to a plate of ham and eggs right now." Everyone smiled. "But Greg's desperate for his desert, and Aidan hasn't eaten either."

"That's all easily sorted, ducky. I'll go and get you ham and eggs. And congratulations again."

Scarlet pulled Aidan down to the seat beside her.

"Good day?" she asked.

"Fine, a perfect day. I'm sorry you're so miserable though."

"It'll get better," John said, sitting down. "Oh, you know what you two should do? You should move back in to Baker Street! Then me and Sherlock could make sure there were always enough pork pies in the house!"

"Thanks, Dad, but I think we should stay where we are for a bit."

"We could babysit, Scarlet, whenever you wanted," Sherlock said. "It really was the best thing having Mrs Hudson on site when you were little."

"Thank you, but no parent wants their adult child living in the same house as them. And no man wants to live with his wife's parents."

"But the joy of Baker Street is that there are three separate flats. So you could lock us out if you wanted."

"Actually, Scar, I've been looking into childcare costs. I don't think we should knock any form of free babysitting. Oo, food!"

Mrs Ellis put a piled plate in front of him, and a plate of ham and eggs in front of Scarlet.

"I've sent for grapefruit juice, Scarlet, it will be here shortly."

"Oh, thank you, Mrs Ellis!" She started eating and looked at Aidan. "You want us to live with my parents?"

"No. I selfishly want your parents available to take the baby away any time we should so wish. Or to cook us food. Or to do the children's homework."

"Children's? You're also thinking twins?"

"I'm thinking long term."

"I'm thinking I'm never going to do this again ever."

Aidan smiled at her. "I think it will get better soon. And I think you should be somewhere where you feel as comfortable as possible at the moment. It needn't be forever, but you've got three flats at your disposal, four if you choose to evict John and Sherlock. I think any right-minded person would live in the one that's most convenient and comfortable for them. And those two are desperate to get you back."

"We'd even let you evict us," John said. "If you want B, we'll take A."

"Doesn't it seem really decadent to anyone else?" Scarlet asked.

"Not to me," John said.

"Me neither," Sherlock agreed.

"Besides, it turns around in the end," John said. "When we're old and decrepit, you'll take care of us in return."

"Well, maybe we'll find you a really _good_ care-home." She smiled though.

"I'd prefer it, Scar," Aidan said. "I hate working shifts and leaving you on your own so much. And I'll hate it more when you're home with a tiny baby."

"OK, well, maybe we could move into A for a bit. And just see how it feels to be there."

"Good then," Aidan said. "Can we poach Mrs Ellis from Mycroft too? Because this beef is frankly excellent. Better than Mum's! Don't tell her I said that though."

oOo

_Thirty-five-ish weeks later…_

Sherlock woke up to the sound of panic running up the stairs in Baker Street. Aidan was running and shouting.

"John! John! Sherlock!"

"Wha's happening?" John said, bleary eyed and rolling over.

"I think it's Scarlet's time," Sherlock said, getting up.

The door burst open and Aidan came in, wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

"Scarlet's in labour! Do you have a brick?"

"Come again?" John said from the bed.

"I need a brick! Do you have a brick?"

"Aidan, you're a doctor!" Sherlock told him. "For goodness sake, pull yourself together!"

"The doctor thing doesn't always help," John told him. "Aidan, calm down. Where's Scarlet? You need to be with her!"

"I _know_, and I would be, but it was suddenly painful and she freaked out and locked herself in the bathroom!"

"And you need a brick…?"

"To get her out! Please! I just want to get her out of the bathroom! Or get in myself!"

"So your plan…" Sherlock started.

"Sherlock, you can be sardonic later. For now, let's get Scarlet out of the bathroom," Johns said. He got up and patted Aidan on the shoulder. "Come on now, it's all going to be fine. You know it is."

Aidan started to calm down as he went back downstairs with them. Sherlock grumbled about there being too many stairs.

John knocked on the bathroom door. "Scarlet? Scarlet are you OK in there?"

"Go away!"

"I just want to know you're OK, love. Can you tell me what's happening?"

"I don't want anyone to see me! Just go away!"

"OK, we'll go away in a minute, Scarlet…" John started.

"No!" Aidan cried.

"Shh now," Sherlock whispered to him. "Don't worry, we're not going anywhere."

"Scarlet, it's fine," John told her. "If you want to be by yourself that's fine, but can you tell me what's happening?"

"I can't do it!" she cried.

"It's OK, it's fine. Are you having a contraction right now?"

There was a sniff. "No."

"Have you had any contractions since you went in there."

"Yes! It hurts! It hurts so much! And it's going to get worse! These are supposed to be the easy ones!"

"OK, have your waters broken?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well that's good, that's OK. Is there any blood at all?"

"No."

"OK, good, you're OK. Now do you want to wait on your own in there? Or do you want Aidan to come and wait with you?"

"I don't know!"

"OK. Maybe one of us could fill this fancy pool you've got here? Would you like that?"

"I don't know! I just don't know!"

"OK, you don't have to decide yet. It's not important. You just settle down there and we'll wait just out here. If you want us to get you anything you can just yell. OK?"

"OK." She sounded calmer. "Sorry."

"No, that's OK. You can just stay by yourself for a moment."

She suddenly cried out in pain and they all went tense at the sound.

Aidan rested his forehead against the door.

"OK, Scar, that's the first one going now. Do you remember? That's the first one, and now there'll be a bigger, harder one. Are you ready for it? Like a nice big surf wave coming at you, and you breathe through it, like it said on the hypno-birthing CD."

"Fuck the hypno-birthing CD! Ow!" She howled in pain.

"It's OK, Scarlet!" John called through. "It's all fine. This is the hard one, like Aidan said. It'll be over in a bit. Can you tell me when you think it's going, Moppet?"

They heard her weep and groan for a while. Both John and Sherlock were biting their nails. Aidan was looking at them helplessly.

"I'm going to get a pickaxe and open that door," he whispered to them.

"I think it's going now!" Scarlet called out. "And I don't think I'm Moppet any more."

"You'll always be Moppet, Moppet," John told her. "OK, you know there's another small one coming now, don't you. You got through the big one so the little one will be easy. You're doing really well!"

"OK," she said. After a moment they heard her quietly moaning and breathing hard. "OK, it's done," she called out.

"Good! Well done!" John called. He glanced at Aidan and whispered. "This sounds like established labour now."

"I know. I've been rubbish at timing the contractions though. And I can't tell what she's feeling. We thought she was having Braxton Hicks all day, but now I'm wondering if that was Stage One."

John nodded. "Scarlet," he called. "It would be really helpful if me or Aidan could have a look at you for a second. Just a quick check, honey, and then you can be by yourself again if you want."

"OK."

"OK, can you unlock the door for me?"

There was a pause, then the sound of shuffling footsteps and the bolt on the door was pulled back and Scarlet stood in the doorway looking embarrassed.

"I don't think I want to have a home birth," she said.

"OK, that's fine," John told her. She fell against him and cried for a moment and he held her and kissed her. Sherlock stroked her head for a moment.

"I'm so stupid!" she cried.

"No, you're not, you're fine!" Sherlock told her. "Do you think any one of us could give birth? No! You're already streets ahead."

She laughed slightly and looked shyly at Aidan. "I'm really sorry! I just, for a while I really didn't want anyone to see!"

"It's fine! It's all fine, Scarlet! It's fine. Now, do you want to go up to the hospital then? Because we can absolutely do that."

"Do I have to go right now?"

"No, there's time yet," Aidan told her. "Let's just go and sit down for a bit." He led her into the front room.

"Do you want tea, Scarlet?" Sherlock asked her.

"I don't know."

"Well, I'll make you one so it's there if you want it."

"Did you pack a hospital bag?" John asked her. She shook her head. "OK, I'll sort that out. You can take it if you want to go in, or unpack it again if you don't."

"OK," she nodded and sat down on the sofa next to Aidan. Here eyes were wide and shining, and she was rubbing her tummy. She looked slightly possessed. John nodded at her with a frown and headed to her bedroom to pack a bag.

He dashed out again a few seconds later and stood watching as Scarlet clung to Aidan and cried. He counted to thirty and then it subsided. He counted forty-five seconds before the next one came.

"It might hurt less if you stand up, Scarlet!" he called to her.

Aidan nodded and helped her to her feet and she leaned against him, crying, with gritted teeth.

"You have to breath and not fight it, Scarlet," Aidan told her. "Blow your breath out, Scarlet. Blow out as hard as you can at me."

John was pleased that she obeyed. He counted to fifty before it left her and she sighed and breathed normally again.

"That helped," she said. "It was better standing up and blowing. Thank you."

She walked about for a bit, then went back to Aidan as the third contraction appeared. It was over in a moment.

"Start counting from now," John said to Sherlock who had appeared beside him. He looked nearly as terrified as Scarlet and John smirked. He went back to finish packing the bag.

When he emerged from the bedroom, Sherlock was still in position, staring at Scarlet who seemed to be just finishing another contraction.

"A hundred and forty, forty, forty-five, fifty-five, thirty, fifteen," Sherlock told him.

John ran this through his head a couple of times and nodded. He took the bag through to the sitting room and sat down on the coffee table.

"OK, Scarlet, you're in established labour now," he told her. "The good news is, this is probably as bad as it'll get until you get to the pushing stage. And you're dealing fine with the pain now, so you know you can do it. But you have to make a choice now, if you want to have the baby here, we have to call the midwife, and if you want to go to hospital, you have to go now. OK?"

"I want to go to hospital."

"OK, good, I'll get a cab."

"I'll call Mycroft. He'll be quicker," Sherlock told them.

"You're voluntarily calling Mycroft?" Scarlet sniggered. "Things must be bad!"

"Things are fine!" John told her. "And you might well be fine to stay home a while longer, but I have no intention of doing an internal measurement, so unless you want Aidan to, you have to go in now."

"OK, thanks Dad."

"It's fine. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. I'm fine now. I'm sorry."

"It's OK."

"You won't go out will you? If I do need you, you will come in, won't you?"

"No, we were thinking of going out for the day, Scarlet," Sherlock told her as he hung up his phone. "Perhaps to Edinburgh. _Of course_ we'll come in if you want us to. We'll come with you now if you want and just annoy people at the hospital while we wait."

"No, it's fine. I'll be fine now."

"I won't," Aidan said. "If you could stay really close in case she runs away again, I'd like that."

"You're fine, Aidan," John said.

"There's another one coming," Scarlet said and she stood up with Aidan. She wasn't as noisy this time. She looked absorbed in the task and was concentrating on what she was feeling. John realised that he was holding his breath while waiting for her, and Sherlock was gripping his shoulder quite painfully.

"I didn't count that time!" Sherlock panicked at him.

"It's fine! It's all fine, and going exactly as it should be!" John said. "Can everybody just calm down a little bit?"

"How are you so calm?" Scarlet asked. "I expected you to be the first to fall apart!"

"You forget I'm a doctor," John told her.

"So am I!" Aidan said.

"Yeah, but I'm a soldier too. And I'm basically a rock in any situation."

"And he has experience of being in this position," Sherlock said. "The first time he went through this he was a real mess."

John smiled. "The car will be here in a bit. Did you want to get dressed, Aidan? There's no real dress code but trousers are generally expected."

"Oh. Yes." Aidan rushed into the bedroom.

"You're fine, Scarlet. Sherlock, go and find her shoes and socks."

"Thanks, Dad," Scarlet said quietly.

"It's fine. I know you can do this, Scarlet. You can do anything you put your mind to. Just try not to scare Aidan again too much will you?"

Sherlock reappeared with Scarlet's trainers and he suddenly giggled.

"What?" Scarlet asked him.

"Oh, nothing. Just the image of Aidan in his boxers pyjamas throwing a brick at the bathroom door over and over again."

John and Scarlet joined him with giggles. A car beeped outside just as Aidan came out of the bedroom.

"Right, that's us then. We should go."

He helped Scarlet to the door and they said goodbye and assured each other that they'd see each other again, very soon.

Sherlock shut the door. He turned and watched as John slid down the wall until he was sat on the floor.

"Wow," John said. "Wow. And… wow."

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. I'm fine. Wow."

"What do we do now? Is it just waiting?"

"Yep."

"Excellent. That's my favourite thing."

He pulled John to his feet and the headed upstairs for the long, long wait.


	53. Scarlet's Wedding

**Oh Lord! I'm clearly in a happy, soppy, fluffy mood. I suspect this will be the last of chapters in this particular tone, but I'm not quite sure what's coming next. Apologies for the huge fluffiness here. **

**The reason I didn't tackle Scarlet's wedding in Just For Fun was because I was reasonably sure I wouldn't be able to write something better than what was people imagined her wedding to be. In addition, there are two specific challenges; the dress, and the wedding speech, both of which I've quailed at slightly. I've had a go here, and I quite like it, but I sort of feel that this chapter won't be for everyone. So it's here if you want to read it, and as always, skip over if it's not your thing.**

**Anyhow, this was prompted by Cousin Kate so obviously I **_**have**_** to give it a shot.**

* * *

_Scarlet's Wedding_.

"Right, so, what time are all the bridesmaids getting here?"

"I keep telling you, they've said they'll get here at six if we want. I've said nine is fine. We compromised on eight."

"OK, well, are you sure they won't be late? We can order them cabs! We can arrange cars!"

"Dad, if you were going to fret about this, why didn't you just let me go with my first plan and have them all stay here tonight?"

"Sherlock wouldn't let you."

"I wouldn't let you do what?" Sherlock said, coming into the kitchen.

"Sleepover. With bridesmaids. All three of them, the riotous bunch that we are."

"You wouldn't get enough sleep and then it would be even worse tomorrow because you'd be tired as well as stressed and you'd be bothered by bags under your eyes. It was sensible."

"It's fine! I honestly don't care, but John's going a bit mental again."

"I'm not!"

Sherlock sat down beside him and took a well-worn list of timing and instructions from his hands.

"John, it's going to be fine. It's going to be lovely. If you can avoid spending the whole day in tears, that would be even better! But for now, let's just enjoy a nice, quiet night in with Scarlet, like we planned."

"But there's so much to do!"

"No, there _was_ so much to do. Now it's done. Assuming all goes to plan, Scarlet and Aidan will have a lovely wedding tomorrow, and we'll watch it and smile and cheer and you'll cry like a big baby."

"I won't!"

"John, you're nearly off now just thinking about it!"

"I'm not! I'm fine! I'm just a bit tired and stressed, that's all!"

"Sherlock, stop teasing him. Besides, we all know that the reason you didn't want the whole sleepover thing to happen is because you think I'm going to vanish into the ether tomorrow, and you want to make the most of your time with me. So don't pretend that John's the only soppy one!"

"No, I gave up trying to get rid of you when you insisted on coming home after university. If I'd known you were going to be this hard to shake off I'd have moved out and emigrated during your first term."

"You wouldn't!" John said, aghast.

"Dad, clearly he wouldn't, we know this because he still_ hasn't._ I really think it's time for you to stop with the wedding preparations now." Scarlet smiled at him. "Come on now, let's just relax for the evening. What shall we do? Watch a film? Play a game?"

"What do you want to do?" Sherlock asked.

"Oo! Baby pictures!" John suggested. "That's always fun."

"I'd agree," Scarlet told him, "except I honestly think that that's what you'll choose to do Sunday night. When I'm no longer living under your roof as your daughter, but I'm in a different flat, as someone else's wife. No longer yours. It'll be very sad. What will you do without me?" She giggled.

"I'm not being that bad!" John said. "Honestly, the way everyone's going on! All I'm doing is double checking the arrangements, going over my speech, and wondering how quiet it's going to feel here afterwards."

Scarlet giggled again. "I did move out some years ago, remember."

"Yeah, but you keep coming back!"

"And I'll keep coming back afterwards too!"

"Will you bring Aidan? Because he's actually a laugh."

"I will bring Aidan. Just like I what happens now. It'll be exactly the same."

"Apart from we'll be several thousand pounds poorer, and you'll be Scarlet O'Hara," Sherlock said.

"No, I _won't_ be!"

"Oh, don't be all modern, Scarlet!" John said, "Please take his name! I don't think I'll ever stop laughing about that!"

"Yeah you will."

"Yes, he'll probably stop laughing when you sign the register. He won't be able to through his tears."

"You're being really mean about it, you know!" John said. "Now, I won't be able to relax and enjoy the wedding because I'll be constantly worried that I'm about to cry, not because I'm so uncertain of my own man-ness that I'd be _ashamed_ of it, but because you and Greg and probably even Mycroft will be lining up to rip the piss! It's not _fair!_"

"Wow. You've silenced me John. You've actually silenced me. I simply can't work out whether the pitiful whine of the final sentence is sufficient to cover the use of the term 'man-ness'."

Scarlet laughed and John and Sherlock giggled.

"Let's go for a walk in the park," Scarlet said. "We haven't done that in a while."

"We haven't, it's true," Sherlock said. "I miss Scout. We should really get another dog."

"I don't want another dog," John grumbled. "I didn't want that dog remember?"

"Yes, you hated having her around. It was really obvious," Scarlet said.

"No other dog would be as good," he replied.

"We could just stop being lazy and go for walks anyway," Sherlock said.

"You could wait until there are grandchildren and push them around the park," Scarlet said.

"He used to do that with you, Scarlet. He pushed you round and round in your bright red pram. It was lovely."

"I know. I've heard about it so many times that I can almost remember it." She smiled. "Come on, let's go. I'm going all stagnant in here."

The walked slowly around the familiar paths of Regent's park. John and Sherlock hand in hand as usual with Scarlet walking calmly beside them, looking at the trees and the sky.

She breathed deeply. "I love London. It's really the best place in the world, isn't it? I don't think I could ever get tired of it."

"I quite like it," Sherlock said.

"It's a lovely evening all right," John said. "The weather's good for tomorrow too. I'm just a tiny bit stressed about it being maybe too hot."

"It'll be fine, Dad! It'll all be fine."

They walked in silence for a while, each thinking personal, private thoughts.

"So, do you have any sage words for me on the subject of married life that you want to send me off with?" Scarlet asked.

John looked at her, surprised. "No. You know all the answers already, Scarlet. I'm not saying it will be easy for every second of every day, but you know what you have to do to get through the difficult times. You just have to keep talking. Keep explaining, and keep listening. You and Aidan already do this, you just communicate so well, it's lovely. It makes me know that you'll be safe with him whatever happens. And if there comes a time when you don't understand each other or you don't think he gets you're feeling, then think about whether you've really, really talked about it. Because people can't read minds, Scarlet. If you don't understand each other, it's because you haven't explained yourself well enough, so don't get disheartened and stop trying. Just take stock, work out what's happening, and talk and listen."

"OK."

"Oh, and don't stop laughing with each other either. Laughter's important. It stops you getting bored and sets off lots of lovely hormones."

"OK." She looked across him to Sherlock. "What about you? What would you say?"

"Don't drink too much."

Scarlet laughed. "Pithy! Thanks!"

"No I don't mean in general, though in general too, but tomorrow. You'll only get tomorrow once, so keep your mind sharp so that you can always remember it. But John's right. With the rest of it, you'll be fine."

"OK. Thank you."

oOo

The following morning saw Scarlet eating toast in a dreamy fashion while John fussed and fretted around her, and Sherlock lolled on the sofa, trying to read a newspaper but absorbing nothing.

"John, you haven't finished your first tea yet!" Sherlock called to him. "Don't put the kettle on again when there's a half-full cup, steaming hot on the coffee table for you. Come in here and sit down for a minute."

"Half-full, you say," Scarlet said. "Always the optimist."

Sherlock smiled at her. "Are you really as calm as you look, Scarlet? Not a hint of nerves at all?"

She frowned slightly. "No. I want the day to come off well, but I'm not actually nervous. Even if I had to get married in jeans and a t-shirt with no flowers or music or food or party and nobody there, it would be fine. So everything that's coming feels like an extra and a bonus."

Sherlock smiled at her. "That's a good attitude to have. Maybe I've learned optimism from you!"

"I'm not trying. I feel really calm. Oddly calm. I'm excited, but… you know that feeling you get sometimes when you just know for sure that you're in exactly the right place, doing exactly the right thing? That's how I feel right now. That this is all exactly right. I've only felt it once before that I can remember."

"When was that?"

"Starting Law at Uni. The first lecture, I just knew that it was right."

Sherlock smiled at her and looked at John, who was staring at her, motionless, with his tea in his hand.

"Are you already going to cry?" Sherlock asked him.

John snapped out of his reverie with a frown. "Shut up," he murmured.

"They're here!" Scarlet said jumping up. "Ten to eight. I told you they wouldn't keep me waiting." She jumped up and ran to let her friends in.

Half an hour later the house was filled with the sound of girls giggling and excited talking. Scarlet was downstairs in Mrs Hudson's flat with her girls running around her. Sherlock and John occasionally listened at the top of the stairs and smiled as they got themselves ready.

At half past ten, the noise died down. Sherlock stood, already fully dressed, looking out of the windows, waiting for the cars to arrive. He heard Scarlet's footsteps coming up the stairs and he turned to face her.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked, coming into the room. She twirled and danced across the room and the shimmering silk of her dress swirled around her. She came to a stop in front of him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you OK?" She was alarmed as he stood there not breathing with his mouth open and his hand on his chest.

"What? Yes, yes I'm fine." Two fat tears ran down his face and dropped onto his waistcoat.

"Do you like it?" she asked, holding her arms out slightly for effect.

"Oh, yes."

He looked at her carefully, taking it all in. The dress she had chosen was a simple cut in ivory silk. As he looked closely, he could see a subtle texture in the fabric allowing it to catch the light. There was a swirl of embroidered flowers in green, pink, yellow and blue, running down one of the broad straps, diagonally across the bodice and disappearing into the folds of her skirt. There were a few shining beads among the flowers, but other than that, there were no fripperies or adornments. There was nothing to distract from the glowing beauty of the girl wearing it. The skirt was pleated slightly, but there was no sign of hoops or masses of petticoats. It swished and swept the ground behind her as she walked but there was no long train pulling the eye back down to the ground.

Some hair was plaited around the top of her head, joining up in an intricate little knot on her crown. Woven throughout it, there were small flowers, matching the ones on her dress. It took a few moments for Sherlock to realise they were silk. There was a jewelled clip above the knot, which held the veil, covering the loose hair behind her. It wasn't coloured now. She'd started to like the light golden brown that she'd been born with.

When he looked closely, he could see that there was make up, but that, like the hair and the dress served only to highlight Scarlet's natural youth and charm. She carried a small bouquet of daisies and roses. She looked light and free.

Sherlock sighed and swiped away at more tears.

"Scarlet, I don't want to give you away."

She stepped back, surprised, and then smiled. "Don't worry, fortunately I have a back-up Dad for this very eventuality!" She grinned at him and he suddenly recognised her again.

"Oh, Scarlet. You are so very lovely; I find I want to keep you. You're far, far too beautiful for Aidan."

She smiled again. "Does it occur to you that I'm beautiful _because_ I'm marrying Aidan?"

"Then you should marry him every day." He sighed and swatted more tears. "And you're sure? You're absolutely sure? Because there's always time to change your mind."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life. This feels like it's the most right that anything could ever be."

"OK then. If you're that sure, I'll give you away to him."

"You do know you don't actually own me, don't you?"

"Yes I do! Look, I've kept the receipt and everything!" He took the creased and worn Adoption Certificate out of his breast pocket.

She took it and looked at it for a while. "How many of these have you been through anyway?"

"That's my seventh." He took it back from her and put it back in his pocket. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he couldn't quite find the words.

"Let me see! Let me see!" John called out, running down the stairs. "Let me see! Oh! Scarlet you're perfect! Perfect! Utterly beautiful."

He dropped a couple of small boxes on the sofa and hugged her closely, holding her close for a while.

"I didn't want to do that," Sherlock said.

"Why ever not?" John asked, not letting go of her.

"In case I ruined something. Don't you think she's a bit… frightening today?"

"No. She's beautiful and stunning." He sniffed, then glanced at Sherlock. "I've decided I don't care if I cry."

"I don't care if you cry either."

"Dad, you do have to let me go at some point," Scarlet said.

He smiled and released her, gave her a long, happy look, and sighed.

"Right," he said. "Care package!"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Her care package. You know, 'something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue'. I'm doing old and new, you're doing borrowed and blue! Oh, Sherlock I _told_ you! You didn't forget did you?"

"No! Of course I didn't. I just…. Do yours first."

"OK, this is something old for you, Scarlet. It's not very, very old, but it counts. I had it made for your Mum for our wedding day. You can see it in the photos. I know you didn't want to do lots of jewellery, but it's not overpowering, so I thought you might not mind."

He handed her one of the boxes and she opened it. There was a simple pendant, designed in an elegant twist of white gold in a pattern not dissimilar to a Caduceus, with three floating diamonds in the loops.

"It's lovely!" Scarlet breathed.

"I'll put it on you."

She held her hair and veil out of the way while he frowned and fumbled with the clasp behind her. Sherlock watched them for a moment, Scarlet looking awed, and John with a slight frown and biting his lip with concentration. Suddenly he startled and grabbed John's camera from the table and desperately started taking photos.

"Got it!" John said. "And this is something new, that I had made just for you to wear today, if you want to."

He gave her a smaller box and she opened it to find two earrings with the same twist of white gold and a floating diamond in each one.

She sniffed. "Now I'm going to cry, and that's no good at all, because of the make-up!"

Her hands shook slightly as she put them on.

"OK. That's me done. That's me… done." John fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and turned away for a second.

"Well it's no good now!" Sherlock said. "Now my thing looks really stupid!"

Scarlet laughed. "I'll be the judge of that. What have you got?"

"I thought you could borrow my scarf."

"Your scarf?"

"Well I didn't know! The remit isn't that detailed! Something borrowed could be anything that you have to give back and I thought… well, when you were little you liked to wear my scarf but I'd never let you keep it and sometimes you cried and then I felt awful but I didn't want to give it to you because it's my scarf. Now it's just stupid."

Scarlet giggled, but went to get his scarf from the peg by the door and held it out to him. "Your scarf. I promise I'll return it."

He looked mildly ashamed but he wrapped it on her anyway.

"Maybe you should take it off when we get to the place."

"Maybe. In the meantime it will keep me warm on this cold, cold July day."

"I thought it would do for blue too. Because it's blue."

"It's not blue, it's ratty old grey!" John told him.

"But I didn't… I'm really sorry, Scarlet!"

"You don't need to worry, Dad, I'm wearing blue knickers."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure I know the colour of my underwear."

"No! Wait! This is better!" He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over to her. It was light blue linen with a dark blue border and the monogram 'SH' embroidered on it. "Mycroft gave it to me, which is why it's stupidly ostentatious, but it's yours now. And it's blue."

She smiled and tied it around the bottom of her bouquet and smiled at him. "Thank you."

There was the sound of a car horn outside.

"That's us! We're up! Let's go!" John said.

"Wait!" Sherlock said. "Give me half a tick to find some more handkerchiefs."

"I won't be that bad!" John called after him.

"Just in case! I need at least one!" He disappeared upstairs.

Julie, Aidan's sister, poked her head around the banister.

"Scarlet, I think the cars are here!"

"I know. I'll be right down. You lot go ahead."

"You are coming, right?"

"Absolutely. Just waiting for Sherlock."

"I'm coming!" Sherlock called. Julie disappeared and Scarlet stood waiting in the hallway for a moment.

"Are you OK?" John asked her.

"Yes. Just thinking for a moment. Let's go now."

They watched the bridesmaids in their pale blue summer dresses get into their car and drive away, still giggling. Scarlet looked at the remaining car with her eyebrows raised.

"Mycroft's car looks really stupid with bridal ribbons on it. It sort of looks like a bouncer in a dinner jacket."

"Well, it's too late now to find another car," John told her.

"No, I know. This is fine. It feels oddly right." She handed her bouquet to Sherlock and got in. Sherlock followed her and John got into the front and they set off. Scarlet was aware of people looking at her, and she looked shyly away. She twisted the handkerchief in her left hand, tracing the monogram with her finger and her right hand was under the scarf, playing with her necklace.

She gasped slightly as the car pulled up in front of the register office and the driver stopped and came to open her door for her. The bridesmaids were waiting along with Mycroft who was wearing a morning suit and a frown.

"What's wrong with Mycroft?" she asked Sherlock as he came to meet her. "He looks faintly disapproving."

"No, that's good. It means you're doing something right!"

She walked up to meet him. "Myrcoft? What's wrong? Aidan is here isn't he?"

"Yes, of course he is! He dutifully arrived early. Very early; I was pleasantly surprised. Your car however, was late! I'll speak to the driver later."

"It's OK! I wanted to be a little late."

"Yes. I factored that in and told the driver to arrive at precisely five minutes past the hour. He arrived at seven minutes past the hour! And now it's eight minutes past the hour!"

"Mycroft, you're as bad as John!"

"Oh, I'm fine now," John said. "We're here now. It's all happening as it should be. I'm just happy."

"What are you wearing around your neck?" Mycroft asked, still frowning.

"Oh! I nearly forgot! I was just borrowing it for a bit." She took the scarf off and handed it to John.

"Oh that's better!" Mycroft said. "You look absolutely beautiful, Scarlet. Well done."

"Yes, jolly good show, Scarlet," Sherlock said and he and John sniggered.

"Thank you, Mycroft," she said, kissing him. "Ignore the children. I'm sure they'll settle down in a minute."

"Well, I'd better go inside."

"Me too," John said. "See you in a bit." He kissed her again and he disappeared off with Mycroft.

Sherlock could hear things going quiet in the main hall. He thought back to how quiet and big it had seemed the day he'd been married in the same room. And what a lifetime ago that had seemed. He looked down the corridor that led to the little run-down office where he'd adopted Scarlet. He wished he could have all that time again.

He took Scarlet's arm and headed towards the door, aware of the bridesmaids falling into formation behind them. Scarlet suddenly stopped and he turned to look at her.

"I'm scared now," she said. She looked it. He panicked briefly and wondered what to say and whether he should get John back. He then remembered he was her father too.

He leaned to whisper to her. "Scarlet, you're wonderful. There's nothing that could happen that you won't be able to cope with. And if something was come up, is there anyone you would prefer to be stood beside than Aidan?"

She breathed out and shook her head. "Thank you. OK. I'm ready now."

He led her down the aisle, the feeling of pride growing within him when he saw people crane their necks to catch a glimpse of the bride.

Aidan had turned to look too and he looked at once terrified, awed and overjoyed. As they reached the front Scarlet smiled at him and reached for his hand. As he took it, he looked calmed and he leant forward to kiss her and to whisper in her ear.

Sherlock felt as if his job was over now. He wondered whether he should try and get to a seat, and thought how odd it was to just leave her at the front with Aidan to just get on with it by herself. She turned and handed her bouquet to one of her friends and seeing Sherlock stood there she took his hand and tiptoed to kiss him on the cheek.

He felt he had been dismissed and he went to stand beside John, trying hard to swallow the lump in his throat so that he could concentrate on things. He distracted himself by wondering how Mycroft had blagged a seat on the front row.

John took him by the hand and smiled at him. The registrar said a few words of welcome and Sherlock could feel himself calm down slightly. He listened to a short lecture on marriage and the level of commitment that Scarlet and Aidan were making together. Aidan's sister came forward to read a poem that appeared to be about the seasons of the year.

He was slightly surprised when Aidan was suddenly asked to repeat the words; "I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Aidan Oisin O'Hara, may not be joined in matrimony to Scarlet Jennifer Watson Holmes."

Sherlock blinked, wondering how they were so far along already and how it was suddenly seconds until she was married.

Aidan spoke again. "I call upon these people… persons here present to witness that I, Aidan Oisin O'Hara, do take thee," he cleared his throat. "Scarlet Jennifer Watson Holmes, to be my lawful wedded wife." He looked relieved and started breathing again. He smiled widely at Scarlet and looked content and proud.

He said the vows that he and Scarlet had written together.

"I promise you, Scarlet Watson Holmes, that I will love you with care and with trust, every day until the day that I die." He put her ring on her finger.

Sherlock found he had to stare at the wall in front of him as everything else was quite blurred. He started very calmly and slowly rooting though his pockets. The tears were coming quite quickly now and he hoped he wouldn't sniff loudly. He was aware of John wiping his face shamelessly beside him. He was somewhat annoyed when Mycroft stuffed a handkerchief into his hand, but he realised he had no time to protest. He wiped his eyes and turned to watch Scarlet.

"I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Scarlet Jennifer Watson Holmes, may not be joined in matrimony to Aidan Oisin O'Hara."

She was using her 'I am certain of this' voice, calm and clear.

"I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Scarlet Jennifer Watson Holmes, do take thee, Aidan Oisin O'Hara to be my lawful wedded husband."

Sherlock quietly wiped his face again.

"I promise you, Aidan O'Hara, that I will love you with care and with trust, every day until the day that I die." She fumbled slightly as she put the ring on his finger and Aidan smiled at her.

Sherlock sniffed loudly. Scarlet glanced around to look at him and grinned and he was aware that John was sniggering quietly through his tears. He sniffed again, wiped his eyes and hung his head. John leaned against him slightly and squeezed his hand. He was aware that there would be a kiss, but he didn't want to watch it and was slightly annoyed that so many other people were invading on this private and intimate moment.

There was applause and he knew it was over and he looked up to see Scarlet and Aidan, glowing happily with each other and completely in love.

He breathed out, relieved, and was surprised to find he was crying again. John pulled him along to sign the register while people relaxed and talked quietly and some music was played.

"You know, I thought it all might be a bit legal and formal, not being in a church, but it was very lovely, wasn't it?"

He looked down into the smiling face of Aidan's mother. He decided he didn't trust his voice to speak so he nodded and smiled at her.

"We must have said similar words at ours," John said. "I couldn't remember any of it though. Sherlock, are you OK?"

"Mm. Fine," he croaked.

Scarlet smiled at him again and handed him a pen. He cleared his throat and tried to find an ounce of dignity in himself somewhere. The registrar had to point twice to where he should sign and he realised it was a lost cause.

oOo

They ate a nice meal and listened and laughed while Joseph O'Hara told several stories that Aidan might have preferred that his parents hadn't heard, and they watched as the groom grinned and blushed. Joe ended though, listing the many good qualities that he felt his younger brother had, the ability to choose a perfect bride not being the least of these. They toasted.

John stood and cleared his throat.

"Sherlock and I spent some time discussing and, well, arguing about what I should put in this speech. I wasn't quite sure what I could say that wouldn't have me sobbing foolishly throughout. I wondered if I should reflect on Scarlet's wilfulness as it's the characteristic I'm most familiar with. Maybe also her stubborn streak, her rapier wit, her intelligence, her extraordinary ability to argue about pretty much anything and her absolute refusal to obey any instruction without asking 'why?' And I'll grant you, these are useful qualities and she's doing a good job of making a career out of some of them but they're not the easiest qualities to deal with in a six year old when you're supposed to be trying to raise her.

"Then we wondered if I should talk about some of the other qualities our Turnip has. Perhaps some of the things as strong as the others, but that aren't as easy to notice. Things like her kindness. Things like her strength and her wisdom. Like her extraordinary capacity to love…" He broke off and cleared his throat. "OK, apparently that list is the one that's going to make me cry, so we'll stick to the other after all. Did I mention she's stubborn?

"I've known for a long time that Scarlet could do pretty much anything that she set her mind to do. Sometimes she's needed a little convincing of that fact. Other times I'd prefer that she had just a touch less self assurance so she wouldn't go and do anything really silly, like climb up the front of the house, or decide self-education is the way for her at eleven. The thing is, I think if you'd have seen the way in which she wrapped Sherlock around her finger quite as ably as she did, then you'd know there was simply no challenge left for her.

"Now some people might think that I've been mildly obsessed with pushing my child towards marriage with some level of urgency. _Some_ people might think that this is because I do like a good wedding. But in my mind it's never been about that. I'm lucky enough to have been married to two different, but equally wonderful people and my life has been immeasurably happier and better because of it. So though I know Scarlet will be fine and can conquer the world all by herself should she feel the need, I have long hoped that she'd find someone who might make her life immeasurably happier and better too.

"And lo and behold, my wonderful, brilliant child, who could do anything and achieve anything, came home one day with Aidan. And I thought, yep, I do like a good wedding, he'll do.

"No, actually, I would have been prepared to wait forever for her to find the right person. Part of me does tremble at the fact that Scarlet is only twenty-five which seems hopelessly, horribly young. But then it's Scarlet, isn't it, and she does like to bite off life in great big chunks. And above that, it's Aidan. And you know those moments when you look at your child and think 'no-one would be good enough for my daughter?' well, if Aidan isn't, then I can't imagine anyone else coming closer.

"Seriously, Aidan's great! If Scarlet hadn't have married him, then I'd have been properly upset! He's a _doctor!_ And he likes football! And old comedy films! Someone actually wants to talk to _me_ at Sunday lunch now! And he's a laugh, and more importantly than any of that, he loves Scarlet. And Scarlet adores him. And her wisdom and judgement are much better than mine, so, in short, if this speech could ever be considered short, yes, in general, I'm in favour of this marriage. And I am extremely pleased and happy and joyful to welcome Aidan into our family.

"So finally, before I ask you to raise your glasses to the wonderful and marvellous Scarlet and Aidan Watson-Holmes-O'Hara, I would ask you to reflect on this:

"I was _not_ the person who cried the most today, haha, Misters Holmes, Holmes and Lestrade! And now, to Scarlet and Aidan!"

Everyone cheered and drank.

Scarlet and Aidan had danced. Scarlet and John had danced. Scarlet and Sherlock had danced which had made Scarlet laugh but he proved himself quite able. He'd retreated quite quickly though, and left the dancing to the younger people and was content to sit in the corner to watch Scarlet and Aidan and their friends.

John talked to everybody and laughed with everybody and drank with everybody. Eventually he waltzed alone across the dancefloor and came to sit next to Sherlock.

"Shall we dance, Sherlock?" John asked him.

"No, John."

"Are you going to cry again?"

"No, John."

"It was a _really_ good wedding wasn't it?"

"Yes, John, it was."

"Should we make them do it again?"

"No, John."

Greg came over and dropped down beside them.

"All right?" he nodded at them.

"It was a really _good_ wedding, wasn't it, Greg?" John asked.

"It was a lovely wedding."

"I thought it was the best one other. Ever. And I've been to a few! Hell, I've had a few."

"You've only two, John," Sherlock pointed out.

"It was a _really good_ wedding. Shall we dance, Mister Inshpector Detective Lestrade?"

"Is he drunk?"

"It would appear so."

"I'm drunk on joy!"

"And on wine."

John turned to face Greg. "I just wanted to tell you, to tell you properly because sometimes I forget to, so I wanted to tell you, that you're the best friend I have _ever_ had. I've had a lot of friends, I still do have a fair few, but not none, not one of them matches up to you."

"Thanks, John. Are you sure you mean me?"

"Wait. No."

"I'm over here, John!"

John turned to face Sherlock and smiled at him. "There's something I wanted to tell you. But I've forgotten what." He shut his eyes and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Shall we sleep here tonight?"

"No. I'll take you home in a bit. I'm just waiting for Scarlet and Aidan to say goodbye." He looked over at Greg. "Where's Mycroft."

"He said he needed to arrange cars and things. Though he might just be avoiding John asking him to dance."

"Wouldn't dance with him!" John said with his eyes still closed. "He's got… feet."

"It's true," Sherlock said, "He does have feet. Amazing how feet can impair your ability to dance."

Aidan and Scarlet drifted over towards them looking exhausted, relieved and happy.

"We're about to head off," Aidan said. "We wanted to say thank you and goodbye."

"Scarlet's crying now," Greg said. "It must run in the family."

"Well, my make up doesn't matter now, does it!" she said. "At this point, I'm a lost cause."

John opened his eyes. "You're still, still… that thing. Like flowers and butterflies and stuff."

"Thank you!" She laughed.

"Will you be OK getting him home?" Aidan asked Sherlock.

"Yes. I'm tempted to insist he tries to walk it off, but I'm lazy so I'll just shove him in a cab and face the consequences later." He disentangled himself from John and stood up to shake Aidan's hand and to kiss Scarlet. John stood up too and pulled them both into a huge hug. Just as it got slightly embarrassing Sherlock pulled him off.

"Goodbye, Mister and Mrs Watson-Holmes-O'Hara. I'm sure we'll see you again quite soon. And thank you, for today. It was perfect."


	54. Devon

**I'm jumping backwards again. Now my recollection of the early months of the relationship is now hazy at best, but in my head this sort of fits after 'Hands'. I think that's after 'Lestrade'. At least I'd like it to be. Scarlet is still, somehow, only about two and a half and it's conveniently September.**

**Also, this one gets lovely and rude towards the end. I haven't done that for a while and I'm feeling pleasantly sexually liberated right now. Enjoy. Or close your eyes for that bit depending on your preference.  
**

_Two and a half._

"Come with me!" Sherlock had said. "Please! It'll be fun!"

"But you'll be working. We've said before that Scarlet and I will make ourselves scarce when you're working and not get in your way."

"I've changed my mind about that plan. Now I think you should be available for me at all times, just in case."

"'Be available' for you?

"Yes."

"Just in case of what?"

"Just in case I'm feeling lonely. It's a horribly distracting emotion."

"Sherlock…"

"No, I hated Milan! I really hated it! While I was working I just wished I could have all those moments where I can just sit in the room with you and listen to you snore while I'm thinking, and your sleepy face in the morning, and the tea you make that I never ask for but I always end up drinking. And I wished I could have some quick, mid-case sex with you, but Milan's too far away to come back from just for tea or sex."

"I don't like mid-case sex."

"What? Why not, I thought you did!"

"No, I like sex in general, but I don't like how it feels so rushed and urgent and I always end up feeling mildly disappointed as you run back out the door."

"Well, the client is paying for my time."

"Not usually by the hour."

"But we know we have to make compromises when I'm working. Bad sex might just be one of them."

"OK, let's leave that aside for a moment. What you're basically saying is that you missed me when you were in Milan."

Sherlock thought about this. "Yes, OK, if you want to put it that way, yes I missed you while I was in Milan. Certainly I was constantly aware that you weren't there."

"Well, while that's nice, I'm not sure I'm completely happy about being some kind of accessory for you to just pick up when you want me. I do have a life of my own you know!"

"No you don't! OK, well maybe you do a bit but you can bring Scarlet with you. Why are you looking at me like that? Have I said something that's going to result in no sex tonight? Damn it, John! I thought you'd like the fact that I missed you."

"I do like the fact that you miss me! It's just… Sherlock, I'm not a possession or something for you to use at will and to put aside when you're busy! Don't you think I deserve slightly more respect than that?"

"I don't understand! You want me to stay with you all the time?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying! I want to be able to _not_ be with you all the time, simply because I'm my own person and sometimes I want to do my own thing. I certainly don't want to be transported around the country just because you might find that you quite want some quick, functional sex or a cup of tea."

Sherlock sat back and rested his hands on his mouth to think.

"I have to admit, I didn't foresee this happening."

"What?"

"I think I just assumed that you wanted to be with me as much as I want to be with you."

John smiled. "Sherlock I do. No, honestly I do!" He moved closer to Sherlock on the sofa, took his hand and kissed his fingers for a moment. "Sherlock, I do want to be with you. I regularly want to march up to you, wherever you might happen to be working, and grab you and insist on noisy, wild and public sex right there and then. But I don't, because you're at work, and I respect that you need space to do your job and it's not professional to be dragged away by your boyfriend simply because he's got an itch that needs scratching."

"I wouldn't mind that much."

"No, not at the time, but it would make things awkward for you, and you're not mine to take and use whenever I so feel it's necessary. All I'm saying is that I would quite like that same level of respect."

"But I want you to come with me! I came home yesterday from Milan, before that there was the thing in Pimlico and I'm going away again in the morning. We've had one day together in three weeks! _One day!_ It's not enough! This isn't what I want either, but I have to work, and if that means I can only get glimpses of you when you're doing something else, then I'll take what I can get!"

John looked at him with a smile. "OK, look I do understand that feeling. I really do."

"Then come with me, _please!_ Look, this is the last chance we're going to get for a while because in three weeks there'll be your stupid job to try to work around too! And look, here's a sort of compromise, let's extend the booking for a whole week. It won't take me nearly that long for me to solve the case, and as soon as I do, I'll join you and Scarlet on the beach, and we'll have our own little family holiday. I promise."

John sighed. "OK. OK, I'll pack for me and Scarlet and we'll come with you and wait for you to do the case, and then we'll have a holiday. A holiday will do you good anyway, you're looking all pasty. I don't know how anyone can go to southern Europe in August and come home with less of a tan than they'd started with."

Sherlock's lip curled into a smile. "I don't tan. I burn horribly, and I have a really sore neck to prove it. What I really need is someone with me to rub sun-block into the bits that I miss or can't reach. See you should come. For my health."

He smiled a little more and John was on him instantly, holding him down and kissing him eagerly.

Sherlock tried to push him off slightly and was only partly successful. "Stop it," Sherlock said through the kisses. "You have to pack."

"I'll do it later," John muttered at him.

And so it was that five days later, John was alone in a dark hotel room, with Scarlet sleeping in the bed next to him, staring at the silent TV and utterly bored.

He was surprised when the door opened and the light from the hall cut into the room. There was Sherlock. Apparently he was alive and had returned, and John couldn't help but feel a little bitter that he'd been given no prior warning of either fact.

He intended to reward Sherlock's thoughtlessness with a wall of stony silence, but the smell hit him.

"Christ, Sherlock! Could you please wash? And burn your clothes." He covered his nose with his hand.

"Yes I suppose it is a bit ripe. Sorry, I'll sort it."

He headed into the bathroom and John heard the shower turn on. Sherlock appeared again ten minutes later, completely naked, and he rooted around his bag looking for clean clothes.

"Did you pack my pyjamas?" he asked John.

"No."

"No matter." He put on a pair of boxers and walked round to his usual side of the bed and frowned.

"Why isn't she in the travel cot?"

"She doesn't like the travel cot. When I put her in it she stands up and cries, begging forgiveness whatever she might have done. You'd know this if you'd have been around at all in the past five days." He was using the tone of voice that reminded Sherlock that John had shot dead several people in the course of his life.

He bit back his retort.

"Do you think she'd stay asleep if I was to move her to it now?"

"Shouldn't think so. It didn't work on the first night, and I've no reason to believe that the situation's changed."

"OK." Sherlock thought about his options for a moment, then very gently shifted Scarlet into the centre of the bed, and got in next to her. John rolled over to face away.

Sherlock allowed himself a very small eye-roll.

"John, I'm sorry. I didn't think it would take so long."

"Mm."

"I wanted to call you and check in, but there's very limited phone signal in the middle of the moors."

"Mm."

"I'm here now." He waited for a moment but there was no response. "Look I said I'm sorry! If I'd have known it would take that long I'd have suggested that you come up on the train today rather than hang about on your own. But look, you've had a nice holiday with Scarlet haven't you?"

"Yeah. We've had a lovely time building sandcastles on the beach every day for five days."

"Good. Well, that's good anyway. And I've just got a couple of loose ends to tie up tomorrow and then I'm yours."

John spun over. "You're going back again tomorrow?" he whispered, angrily. "What the hell did you bother coming here for? Or was this a planned sex top-up and you accidentally forgot that Scarlet would be in the room with us?"

"No, of course not! I'm back because it's night-time, there's nothing I can do right now out there, so I'm taking advantage of the small amount of time I can spend with you! It didn't work out the way I planned, OK! I'm sorry about that and I'm here now! John, I came back now because you'd be here!"

"Well next time, don't bother." He rolled back onto his other side again.

Scarlet stirred and stretched for a moment on the bed between them, and Sherlock looked at her anxiously. She put her thumb back into her mouth though, and settled down again, and Sherlock breathed again.

"Are you just going to sulk at me now?" he asked John's back.

There was no answer. He rolled onto his side too, and stared at the curtains until he fell asleep.

He woke up from a dream in which he was standing on a precipice and some unknown force was willing him to jump over the edge. He found himself perched precariously on the edge of the bed with Scarlet's feet in the small of his back. He rolled over with care and looked at her, stretched out to full length and lying width-wise across the bed. John was similarly perched at the other edge, though facing her. Sherlock chuckled quietly at the sight and John opened his eyes and looked at him.

"I woke up with her foot in my ear the other day. I think she must grow extra elbows in the night too."

Sherlock was flooded with gratitude that John wasn't the sort of person to sulk for long.

"Why don't you stay in bed for a bit?" Sherlock asked him. "I'll take Turnip down to breakfast."

John hesitated for a moment. "Actually, that would be very nice."

"I really am sorry that this didn't work out well."

"I know, and I'm sorry I got so ratty about it. I'm just frustrated and bored. It's not your fault."

Scarlet writhed and stretched and stirred. She woke up and sat up.

"Shock!"

"Good morning, Turnip."

"I did a sand-tastle! Then a big wave did come and it went underneath!"

"Oh dear. Did you make another one?"

"Yes! Lots! And I stood in the sea and stomped on it! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!" She stood up on the bed to demonstrate her stomping ability. "I'm hungry!"

"Well let's get up and find you some food then."

"There's clothes for her and changing stuff in the big bag."

Sherlock stood up and Scarlet instantly leapt on him and he caught her. They laughed as Sherlock cleaned and dressed and tickled her. Eventually they left the room and left John in silence. He stretched out on the bed and thought about things. He felt instantly more relaxed just having a short break from Scarlet and he thought guiltily that perhaps some of his attraction to Sherlock was simply the joy of having someone else shoulder some of that load.

He decided no. He knew that Sherlock had been more than willing to help shoulder the load whether he and John were in a physical relationship or not, and John had signed up for the relationship anyway.

He found that he didn't really want to be alone so he got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. He allowed himself the luxury of a really hot shower, un-interrupted by a small, interested girl who would only be placated by toys on the floor for so long before she felt the need to pester, question, point at and occasionally pull things.

He headed downstairs feeling quite a lot lighter and intent on making a bit more of an effort to be patient with Sherlock. He smiled when he found them sat at a table in the window with the sea and the sun in the background.

Then he noticed Sherlock was checking e-mails on his phone and that Scarlet, in a highchair pulled up to the table, was covered in something that looked suspiciously like chocolate. There was an empty juice glass knocked over beside her, an empty bowl in front of her, and scatterings of bread around her.

Sherlock looked up at him and smiled.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Yeah, where did Scarlet get the chocolate?"

"Er, inside the pain-au-chocolat. Is that OK? I thought it might be OK as long as she ate the bread part too." He looked at the bread scattered around the table.

"No, it's fine. I mean, it's not like it's all she's eaten is it. What was in the bowl?"

Sherlock looked at the bowl and his face fell. "It was the butter."

"The butter? She's eaten a bowl full of butter curls?"

"Is that very bad?"

Scarlet burped and regurgitated a stomach full of orange juice, chocolate and butter across the table. Sherlock scooted backwards, but then got up to help John try to deal with the mess. Scarlet wailed as John tried to mop her down with the napkins on the table and a waitress came running.

"I'm really sorry," John told her.

"It's fine, not to worry, sir. You sort out her and I'll sort out the mess."

He picked up Scarlet and muttered soothing things to her. Sherlock's phone rang and Sherlock answered automatically.

"Sherlock Holmes. Yes. Good. Good. OK, I'll be there…" He looked up at John. His eyes begged forgiveness. "I'll be there shortly."

John looked away slightly and shook his head.

Sherlock hung up. "John…"

"It's fine. It's work. You told me you had to go and you have to go. It's as simple as that."

Sherlock waited until the waitress had hurried away with the tablecloth. "Look…"

"No, just go will you?" He looked up and gave Sherlock a bloodless smile. "The sooner you're gone, the sooner you'll be back." He looked out of the window at the sea again.

"OK, well I'll be as quick as I can." He got up and walked away.

"Right, Moppet, let's go and get you cleaned up a bit," John said and he carried her back to their room.

Scarlet revived almost instantly. John gave her a quick wash and put her in clean clothes, and then he started picking up the rest of their belongings and packing them.

"Daddy? Can we go to the beach again?"

"No, not today."

"Ohhhh! I wanted to see my crab!"

"Well your crab has probably gone back home to his mummy and daddy now."

"But can I see? Please?"

"Scarlet…"

"I wanted to go in the sea again! I want to do more stomping!"

"Well, maybe another time."

"Pleeeeease! I want to do more sand-tastles!"

"I'm sure there'll be other beaches. We're going to go home now."

"To London home?"

"Yes."

"Is Shock tumming too?"

"I don't know. Probably at some point."

"I wanted to stomp in the sea with Shock."

"Well, I wanted that too, but Sherlock's got other things to do, sweetheart."

"Ohhhhhhh!"

John sat down on the bed and looked at her. Her disappointment was real.

"OK, if can you find your sandals and we'll go to the beach one last time, we'll see if we can find your crab, stomp in the sea a bit, build a few more sand-castles, and we'll say goodbye to it all properly, and get ready to go home, OK?"

"OK."

Back at the beach John tried very hard to be light-hearted and calm and to focus on Scarlet and to just enjoy the moment that they were in, but he found it difficult. Not least because Sherlock was making up for the previous five days by texting at half-hourly intervals.

'_I'll be back soon. We'll do the beach this afternoon.'_

'_I'll be back this afternoon. It won't be late though.'_

'_Have a think about what you want to do this evening.'_

'_I'm really sorry about this morning. And today. And the other days.'_

'_Please don't pack and leave.'_

'_Please, just be there when I get back. Which will be soon.'_

'_John, please don't leave.'_

John looked at the last text and wavered. He put his phone in his bag and lay back on the sand. He knew, logically, that it was just luck of the draw and some people ended up with partners who worked long and erratic hours. He just wished that he'd managed to find someone who wanted to make a tiny bit of compromise to spend time with him.

He had told Sherlock that he'd never ask him to stop working. Sherlock needed to work. Not just for the money, which he didn't seem to care about at all, it was that he came alive when he was doing it. John _preferred _Sherlock when he was working at least semi-regularly over the times when he was moping around the house getting bored, or worse, the times when he was pretending to be the nice, calm family man.

John liked the honest Sherlock best. So he knew that he couldn't ask Sherlock to make the compromises he wanted. Sherlock wouldn't like doing it, and John wouldn't like Sherlock if he did.

In addition to this, he worried about all of this being unfair to Scarlet. She adored Sherlock, and she seemed to deal with his sudden absences better than he did. He knew it would be hard for her if it suddenly all ended, but he also knew that if it was going to end, it would be better that it happened now, when her life hadn't been completely uprooted and she was young and adaptable.

He realised he was thinking in purely practical terms and he felt guilty and upset about that. But it was inescapable that a decision had to be made.

He knew what it came down to was that he didn't know if he was he really prepared to share Sherlock with the criminal world and the police and whatever new intriguing puzzle came into Sherlock's life. To keep the relationship going, he would have to accept that family holidays, and indeed family workdays, might mean just him and Scarlet for a lot of the time. He would also have to accept that Sherlock might come home dripping blood and expecting to be sewn back up. He would have to accept the fact that for long stretches of time, he wouldn't know whether Sherlock was dead or alive.

Sherlock was worth it, absolutely. He loved him intensely and fiercely, and that he accepted without a question. The question was whether he, John Watson, had the strength and serenity to accept Sherlock Holmes for who he was, completely, and without asking for any compromise. It seemed to him, that he had to decide what the answer to that question was right then.

"Daddy! I buried you!" Scarlet said.

He opened his eyes and looked. "Oh yes. So you did. Hm. Moppet, can you pass me my phone?"

She dutifully pulled it out of his bag and handed it across to him. He looked at the background picture of Scarlet sitting on Sherlock's chest as he was lying on the floor. The last text from Sherlock had been sent over an hour before. He was clearly being given some time and space. He typed a quick text.

'_I'll see you later. X'_

Sherlock's reply was instant.

'_I love you.'_

John flicked the phone back into his rucksack and looked at Scarlet.

"Right then, Moppet, shall we go and do some stomping in the sea?" He dragged himself out of the sand growling like a monster and she squealed as he chased her across the beach.

There was one more text from Sherlock in the late afternoon, instructing John to meet him in the hotel bar at eight. John arranged a babysitter through the hotel and desperately hoped that Scarlet would be even halfway well behaved for them. She was still awake, but looking tired and quietly watching a DVD when he left the room.

John headed down to the bar. Sherlock wasn't there so John perched on a bar stool to wait.

"John Watson?" the bartender asked.

"I have a note for you," he passed it across. "What can I get you to drink?"

"What Scotch do you have?"

"I have a nice old Glencadam. Just a smidge younger than me."

"I'll have a good glass of that please."

"Ice?"

"No."

He opened the note, assuming it was a note from Sherlock to let him know he was running late. It was on the hotel stationery and he wondered why he hadn't just come into the room if he was in the hotel. It was a somewhat cryptic message.

'_Codeword: Clarinet.'_

John frowned at it for a while, wondering what on earth this could mean. He turned it over but the reverse was blank. His drink and he had one last look around the bar and took it to a quiet table in the corner where he could watch the TV and puzzle over the message until Sherlock arrived to explain himself.

He checked his watch. Sherlock was already running late. He took a sip of his drink and read the note again.

"Are you waiting for someone, or do you mind if I sit here?"

John glanced at the newcomer and wondered how to express is preference that he should sit anywhere else in the mostly empty bar without sounding extremely rude. Then he looked again. He crumpled the note into his pocket and smiled.

"No, you go ahead."

Sherlock wasn't exactly in disguise, but he wasn't exactly here as Sherlock Holmes either. He was wearing denim jeans rather than tailored trousers, a turtleneck and he had trainers on. His hair was styled differently too, though John couldn't quite say how. He looked slightly more tanned and healthier than he did usually.

"So, who's winning?" he asked and nodded at the TV.

"To be honest, I'm not even sure who's playing."

"Not into football?"

"No. Well, it's a diversion if England are playing I suppose, but not really."

John frowned for a moment, trying to make some sense of what was going on. Sherlock was clearly playing a game, and outwardly the game seemed harmless and possibly fun. On the other hand, this was one of those evenings where he felt that they probably _should_ discuss the relationship and what was happening between them.

"Sorry, you're clearly waiting for someone," Sherlock said. "Do you want me to leave?"

John hesitated a moment. He made a decision and smiled at Stranger-Sherlock. "No. I think I've been stood up."

"Well, she's an idiot then."

John grinned. "He, actually. And yes, I rather think he is sometimes." He sat back. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no. A sparkling water would be great."

"I'll see if I can muster up some sparkle for you then."

He went over to the bar and glanced back at Sherlock at the table, sitting looking somewhat prim and polite. He smiled. He suspected he'd enjoy this game. He knew it was foolish, but it was also vaguely exciting, and he was feeling a pull and attraction he hadn't felt for a while.

He took the drink back to the table with something of a swagger.

"Here you are, sir."

"It's Sherlock."

"I'm John."

"I'm extremely pleased to meet you. _John_."

John smiled. "So, what line of work are you in?"

"I'm a PI."

"Really? Sounds exciting!"

"No. It's dull. I'm willing to bet that your job is much more exciting."

"I'm an accountant."

"Really? God, that is dull."

"No, not really. I'm a doctor. I specialise in trauma surgery."

"See now, all that blood and gore and life and death is much more exciting that staking out hotel waiting for an adulterer to turn up."

"Well, if you think that's exciting, before that I was a soldier. I toured in Iraq and Afghanistan."

"Really? Fuck! I can't believe you don't have stories from then!"

"It certainly had its moments."

"You see, when I first saw you at the table, I thought there's a thrill seeker."

"Yeah, well in all honesty, the excitement's behind me a bit. Now I'm just plain old John Watson and for the last two years, I've been exclusively a housekeeper and general slave to my daughter."

"I refuse to accept that having a young child is dull!"

"Ha! Well, no she does like to keep me on my toes."

"Do you have any pictures?" Sherlock looked almost shy when he asked and John buzzed again.

"No, no you don't want to…"

"I do!"

"OK, then yes, I have one or two pictures." He dug in his pocket for the small, wallet-sized album he carried around with him.

Sherlock grinned as he took it. "Oh, she's pretty!"

"Yeah, well obviously she gets that from her Mum."

"Oh, you sell yourself short, John. She certainly has your lovely eyes."

John felt the thrill again and couldn't resist smiling. It vanished as Sherlock handed the album back.

"Sherlock! What's this?" John asked and he pulled Sherlock's sleeve back to reveal an ugly wound on his arm.

"It's nothing, John. It's ancient. I want to hear more about you."

"No! Sherlock, what the hell happened? Clarinet, Sherlock! Clarinet, now tell me what the fuck happened to your arm?"

Sherlock sighed. "I got bitten by a dog. I promise you it doesn't hurt though! Please, can we just go back to the game? You looked like you were enjoying it."

"I was, but I'm not now. I don't want to play around, I want to look at your arm and to know you're OK. I want you, Sherlock! _You!_ Maybe another time we can do this, but I've missed you too and I don't want mess around with any rubbish, chatty PI that I might pick up in a bar. I want _you_. Now show me your arm."

Sherlock accepted this and held out his arm. John glared for a second and then looked properly at the wound, holding the arm up to a lamp so he could see it clearly.

"Wait here. I'll see if they've got a first aid box here. If they haven't got a good one, I _am_ going to take you to casualty, so get used to that idea now."

Sherlock scowled and John suppressed a grin as he headed back to the bar. The young bar-tender was obliging and fortunately the hotel kitchen had an impressive first aid kit. They were happy to lend it to the doctor, turning a blind eye to the health and safety regulations. John cleaned and dressed the wound and Sherlock watched him do it.

"I love you, John."

"I know. And I love you too. I just sometimes don't love specific things that happen in the time during which I'm loving you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's life, and it doesn't mean that I want someone else."

"That isn't what this was about. I just thought it would be fun. I wanted to give you a nice night."

John shook his head. "Look, nothing can be perfect all the time. The practicalities have to happen, I know that. It's just that sometimes the practicalities of what you do are slightly more difficult to handle most people have to deal with. You know, people who go off to nice safe jobs in offices and their other halves don't have to wonder whether they're in real trouble or injured or dead. And it's hard wanting to be with you, helping out and having adventures like we used to, but instead having to sit at home waiting and worrying. Sometimes I think it would be easier for me just not to know and just imagine that you were just at your own place watching the TV. I love you, but it's hard sometimes. I don't want you to stop doing what you do. I really don't, and I don't want anyone easier to be with. I just want you to have some appreciation of the fact that it's hard."

He tied off the bandage and looked up at Sherlock. He was looking sad and ashamed.

"I should leave you, shouldn't I."

"No. Guess again."

Sherlock ran his hand over the neat bandage, thinking of all the other times that John had wrapped some form of wound for him.

"I think I need to work harder during those times that we're together. No, I don't mean pretending to be something I'm not," he added, when John's face fell. "I mean, for example, I keep using the excuse that I don't know much about children so if I mess things up with Scarlet it's not my fault. That's something about me that I could address without much effort."

"Scarlet's my child and my choice remember. I don't mean for you to do that."

"No, you have to accept that at some point I chose Scarlet too. It's not as if I hadn't noticed you had a child. I don't expect you to give her away or anything."

John smiled. "As children go, I think she's fairly easy. I didn't get a really complicated one."

"She's very sweet. I didn't think I'd get sucked into the sweetness because it's not my thing at all, but she really is _very_ sweet."

"She is." John smiled as he thought about her.

"There are other things too. I should be able to take a holiday. Other people do, even people who are self-employed. I should be able to step away for it for a week."

"You might miss something important."

"Important to whom?"

"Well, interesting then. Puzzling. Besides, the criminal masses don't conveniently stop for a week in August."

"No. But the police are still there. They'll just have to deal with it."

John nodded. "I would like that. I would like occasional holidays with you. Me you and Scarlet. There's something else that I was thinking though. I was thinking about Scarlet and me moving back to Baker Street now."

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "Really?"

"Yes. I think… well, part of me thinks that it's an awful idea and it's likely to exacerbate all the problems we have with you finding it difficult to combine work with family. But the other part of me thinks we just have to dive in and get used to it. Scarlet and I, well, we have to adapt to you too."

Sherlock grinned. "I'd really like that. I'd love that, John, for you to come home. I'd love it."

John smiled. "OK. Well, let's start with that then. And see how we go."

"OK." Sherlock drank some water and glanced at John. "John, Sherlock the PI was going to suggest John the stranger in the bar, that they got something to eat."

"I'm starving."

"Then he was going to suggest that they took a little walk along the beach so I could show him the ship-wreck in the next bay over."

"I like ship-wrecks."

"Really?"

"I'm absolutely sure I will."

Sherlock grinned.

It was a nice evening on the beach, still warm enough for them to walk comfortably together, hand in hand. Out of season, it wasn't busy and the nights were beginning to draw in, so they walked in the twilight, almost alone. They nodded at a dog walker.

The cove with the shipwreck was small and completely empty. John walked around the wooden hulk and ran his hands over the rough wood and the sea-mosses clinging to it. Sherlock watched him for a moment before he could resist no more and he walked over, turned him around and kissed him hard.

John hesitated for only a moment before he kissed back, and held onto Sherlock's head, running his hands through his hair. He quivered, feeling the breeze on his face and against the warmth of Sherlock's breath and his kisses. The sea sounded loud and close and their feet sank into the sand. Sherlock's hands found their way down to the small of John's back and he pulled him towards him, urgently.

"I promise this won't be quick, urgent, mid-case sex, John. I promise I won't run away anywhere."

His phone rang and for a moment the two of them stood still, almost confused by the intrusion.

"I'm going to bury it," Sherlock said, looking like he was about to do just that.

"No don't," John said laughing. "You'll only regret it in the morning."

"I doubt it!"

"Here." John took it and set it to vibrate. "Now, maybe we should put this somewhere really clever." He pocketed it though. "Come here."

Sherlock obeyed and John deftly unbuttoned his jeans and thrust his hands into them. Sherlock sighed and John's fingers ran over him. He took hold of John's head and kissed him again.

John pulled the Sherlock's top off and dropped it down in the sand. There was a brief moment when John suddenly looked wary. "Is this… could we get into trouble for this?"

"No, we'll be fine. The police here _really_ like me at the moment."

John laughed again and kissed along Sherlock's collarbone. "Turtleneck's don't suit you at all. Promise you'll never wear one again."

"Will you iron my shirts?" Sherlock responded, trying to remove John's trousers.

"No."

Sherlock stopped fumbling with John's buttons and kissed John's mouth hard. John continued his investigation of Sherlock's trousers.

"Oh John, I need you now. _Please!_"

John laughed again and helped Sherlock, unbuttoning his own trousers and Sherlock's hands were on him instantly. Sherlock knelt and took John into his mouth. John's t-shirt flopped onto his head. For a moment, John wanted to pick Sherlock up so that he could hold him and kiss him, but instead he relaxed into it and stared out at the dark sea and the stars.

He breathed the sea air deeply and sighed and groaned when he came. Sherlock stood up, licking his lips and grinning.

John kissed him. "How do you want me?"

"Permanently and constantly." Sherlock nuzzled into John's neck.

John laughed again. "OK. How do you want me _right now_!"

"Just 'right now' will do." He kissed along his jaw.

John laughed again. "A surprise then. Let me see what I can do."

An hour later they walked back to the hotel, their eyes gleaming, without saying anything. John had a large amount of sand still sticking to his front and Sherlock's top was inside out.

They quickly dismissed the babysitter and showered together quietly and quickly and put on pyjamas. As they got into bed, Scarlet mumbled in her sleep.

"Want play on sand."

They grinned at each other and settled down, each with an arm draped over Scarlet and just resting on each other.


	55. Dad 1

_"Look, Scarlet, the word 'Dad' covers a number of different things. Yes, it means your Dad, the one who made you and shared his genetic material with you, but it's also the name of a role. Of a job. You live with me, you call me Dad. I do your homework with you, you've thrown food at me, you've screamed in my face, you've weed on me, you've vomited on me. As far as being your Dad goes, I'm fairly sure I am doing the job, even if my genes aren't yours."_

_Three._

Sherlock had been carrying Scarlet around on his shoulders for nearly an hour. It hadn't been intentional, he'd just been finding the perfect birthday present for John harder to source than he'd hoped. He wasn't even sure he knew what he was looking for.

So he wasn't in the best of moods when he was summoned to Whitehall to see Mycroft.

"What do you want?" he said, walking into Mycroft's office and looming in front of him.

"Have a seat, Sherlock."

"No."

"Sherlock…" Scarlet said from on his shoulders.

"At least put Scarlet down."

"We're not staying. What do you want?"

"Sherlock," Scarlet whispered to him, pulling on his hair.

"In a second, Turnip. Mycroft, can you make this brief? We have things to do."

"I need you to read this file."

"No, I haven't got time,"

"Sherlock…" Scarlet said.

"Stop wriggling, Turnip. No, I haven't got time, I don't answer to your call, I'm not a hired hand, and I'm not interested!"

"You're very grumpy today, aren't you?"

"Mycroft! I'm busy! If you want me to help and you can crowbar yourself out of your office for maybe two minutes you can come to my flat and talk to me there, but Scarlet and I are on important business…" he broke off, registering the sudden warm sensation that was slowly trickling down his back.

"Is something wrong, Little Brother?"

"No, everything's fine. We're just busy."

He turned around and marched from the room.

oOo

_Four._

Sherlock sat opposite Scarlet at the kitchen table.

"Please, Scarlet. Just eat a few mouthfuls, and then you're done. Please."

She pushed her bowl away from herself a bit, and put her head down on her hands. "Nope."

"Just…" He looked at her untouched meal. "Just five more mouthfuls and we can call it quits."

"No."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Yes. I want cake."

"Well you can't have cake. If you're hungry, you'll eat the food that I made for you."

"No. It's yukky."

"It's not yukky. It's not! It's pasta! You like pasta!"

"No. This pasta is yukky."

"Well eat it quickly and then you don't have to taste it for long."

"It tastes like sick."

"No it doesn't!"

"How do you know? You don't have to eat it! Only I do!"

He briefly registered the injustice of this. It was true that Scarlet was eating pasta, made by him, whereas he and John would be eating delicious take-away made by, well, anyone else. But it was _Thursday_ and Thursday was take-away night and he looked forward to take-away food and beer with John, damn it!"

He summoned his courage.

"Scarlet, what I eat or don't eat is irrelevant. You have to eat some food so you don't get hungry tonight, so eat it."

"No."

"Scarlet, will you please eat your food right now!"

"No."

"That wasn't a question! It was a… it was a command!"

"No, you said 'will you' so that makes it into a question."

He stood up and turned away for a moment trying hard not to lose his temper. He turned back and leaned on the table.

"Scarlet, you will pick up your fork and you will eat your pasta now, or you'll go to bed without anything at all."

"No."

He leaned on the table and looked at her. "Scarlet! You will eat your dinner now!"

She stood on her chair and leaned on the table opposite him.

"NO I WON'T!"

"Sit down! Pick up your fork and eat just one mouthful of pasta! Do it now!"

She sat down. She picked up her fork. She picked up a piece of pasta. She looked at him.

He held his breath.

She flicked the pasta at him and it hit him square on the forehead.

oOo

_Five._

Sherlock waited outside the school doors, waiting for them to open the door for him.

"She's in the office with me," the receptionist told him as he got inside. "Here, come on in."

Scarlet was sat on a little grey chair, looking sorry for herself.

"Are you not feeling well, Turnip?"

Scarlet got up and came over to him for a hug.

"She has got a bit of a temperature," the receptionist told him. "It's probably just a bug. There's a lot going around at the moment."

"Yes. Well, let's take you home, Turnip." He led her outside and across the school grounds. She shivered though it wasn't particularly cold.

"You're not well are you, Turnip?" He said to her. "Do you want carrying home?"

She nodded forlornly and climbed onto his back. Her head rested on his shoulder and he could feel her fever against his neck. He decided he'd walk quickly.

"What do you want to do when you get home?"

"Don't know."

"We could do some drawing, or get your beads out or put on a film…"

She stiffened and retched loudly. The explosion of vomit down the front of Sherlock's coat was impressive. He stopped walking and Scarlet started whimpering.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's OK, OK." He put her down carefully and brushed himself down a bit but then gave it up as a bad job. "It's OK, Scarlet."

He pulled her gently towards him and found a handkerchief to wipe her face.

"Do you still feel sick?"

She nodded and cried.

"It's OK, Scarlet, these things happen. Let's get you home. I'm going to carry you again, but if you're going to be sick, do you think you could tell me?"

She nodded again.

"OK, let's go home, poppet."

He kissed her hot forehead and picked her up gently to carry her home.

oOo

_Six._

"So, salt dissolves in water too!"

"Yes it does! What's next on the list?"

"Sugar."

"OK, go for it!"

Scarlet emptied the beaker of salt water into the sink, and carefully cleaned it for fear of contamination. She came back and carefully poured two hundred millilitres from the jug of fresh water, and carefully scooped sugar into Sherlock's measuring spoon. She poured it into the water and stirred it.

"It dissolves too!"

"Yes! Tick that one."

"Is that why when you have it in your tea, you stop seeing it?"

"Yes, that's right."

"But sometimes there's a tiny little bit left at the bottom."

"Yes. That's because John doesn't stir it enough. Or because sometimes I put a bit more than two sugars in there. Do you want to see what happens if we keep adding the sugar?"

She nodded and spooned more sugar in, stirring it carefully until…

"It's stopped dissolving!"

"Yes. That's called super saturation."

"What's that?"

"That means that there's no more space between the water molecules for any more sugar!"

"Can you spell it for me?"

He did so, smiling at her diligence, and the fact that like John, she poked her tongue out when she concentrated.

"You should say exactly how much sugar you were able to put in before super-saturation occurs." He watched as she did so. "Now, what's next?"

"A key."

"A key?"

"Yeah. That's what it says. Look!"

"OK. I'll find you a key. You clean the beaker out again." He dug around in a draw for a key he couldn't remember the purpose of. "OK. Here you go."

She dropped the key in the water. Predictably, nothing happened.

"Is this because the water is super statue-thingy with keys?"

"Er, no. No, it's because keys, or the metal that keys are made out of are not soluble."

"Oh."

"Well, not in water anyway. You'd think that would be fairly obvious to Mrs Seetle. Otherwise people's keys would dissolve if they took them out in the rain."

Scarlet giggled.

"Then John would be locked out in the rain again."

"That really wasn't my fault! You know what? All this means is that this key isn't water soluble. It doesn't mean that the key won't dissolve in anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think it would be fun if we extended the experiment a bit? Maybe we could tell Mrs Seetle what liquid can be used to dissolve the key!"

"Er, well, John likes it when we stick to the actual homework when it's Science."

"Yes but this would be fun!"

"Are you sure you mean 'fun' and not 'dangerous'?"

Sherlock stood up and unlocked his supply cupboard. "It's well worth remembering, Scarlet, that some things can be both!"

oOo

_She thought about this. "Have I ever done anything nice for you?"_

_He grinned and hugged her closely. "Every day, Scarlet, every single day! _

_This one happens a couple of weeks after 'Trees'.  
_

John and Sherlock lingered towards the back of the crowd of parents in the playground so that they were out of the way of the noise and the bustle. The door of the year 3 classroom opened and they looked up. Children started filing out one by one to be sent to their waiting parents.

Scarlet's name was called and she jumped down the two steps and ran across to them. Her pig-tails were loose and there was a yogurt stain on her jumper. She dropped her bag and her lunchbox to the floor jumped around at them for hugs and kisses.

"Why are you both here? Isn't it Dad's day? John I mean? Can we go to the park? Look! I got this! I'm star of the week for my homework even though Millie said I'd done it wrong!"

She thrust a laminated certificate at John and shot off across the playground after one of her friends. Sherlock stooped to pick up the bags and John turned the certificate around the right way. Under the big picture of a star was a little hand-written note from Scarlet's teacher.

'_Scarlet is star of the week for writing not one, but TWO excellent essays on superheroes. Well done Scarlet!'_

"You made her do two essays?" John asked Sherlock. "That seems a bit unfair."

"I didn't make her do any essays. Wasn't it your homework this week?"

"Was it?"

"Mm. Maybe we should start paying a bit more attention to that sort of thing."

"Maybe. On the other hand, she got a certificate for it when she had no help at all. And I still haven't forgotten the homework that melted the table. Come on, let's go and meet her at the park.

They found Scarlet playing in her beloved playground, following her friends down the fire-pole. They sat side by side on a bench and John took Scarlet's schoolbag from Sherlock and pulled out her homework folder.

"Here you go, _Superheroes, my Dad Sherlock._ Huh. You're a superhero, Sherlock. Who knew?"

"I had a pretty good idea." He took the folder away from John and started to read. A huge smile slowly spread across his face.

_My Dad Sherlock is like a superhero but hes real and not maid up. His special power is knowing when people are lying and when they've done crimes. He can sometimes know what someone is thinking to, specially if they are lying to._

_He cant fly but he can run very fast and dose big jumps and stuff and just in the summer he got shot and my other Dad John said it was really bad and Sherlock got better even though it was bad. He was very brave and he got better very quickly so sometimes I think he might have another superpower which is getting better quickly. But sometimes he takes ages to get better one time he had a cold so may be not._

_He is really grate though and he doesn't even need to turn invisible cos mostly if he wants he can just make people not see him. He says it's called blending in and I've seen it and it's dead clever. He can make people say and do things he wants them to and not just by wining but sometimes he does wine to._

_So I think my Dad Sherlock is a superhero even though hes real and I think hes better than superman and spiderman and batman and all the others and in fact hes even better cos hes real and he actually does stuff in real life and not just on films._

_So that is why my Dad Sherlock is the best superhero I can think of in the world. And I am very lucky cos I get to live with him and hes my Dad._


End file.
